


For his Soulmate to Come

by Lady_Clow



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15151637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Clow/pseuds/Lady_Clow
Summary: Lieutenant James McGraw and Captain Flint were, indeed, two different persons, by the will of destiny confined in one body. But for all the distinction, both of them had something in common. Or didn't have at all. James Flint didn't have a Soulmate.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this particular idea brainwashed me for a while. I decided to take a risk and so the journey began.  
> There are brief mentions of Flinthamiltons and other pairings on the background, but not much - I'm focusing on Silverflint eventually. The tags will be added soon. English is not my native language, so this is kinda slow in writing, but I'm trying to do my best.  
> Re-edited and proofreaded now (more chapters in the process)! So many thanks for my wonderful beta - TheLoversOfMountains!

"**...one waits a lifetime for his soulmate to come...**"

_\- Criss Jami -_

_It is well known – saying someone's name aloud, looking them straight in the eye, may create a Bond. A golden Spiral, circling the wrist of the one whose name was spoken. In the heart of it will be the Name – of the one who spoke. And the latter will have the special insignia too – the Name of the one whose name he said. This pair will be bound both in flesh and soul and they shall be called Soulmates, for that is who they'll be till the end of eternity_.

It was common knowledge – even in Nassau, of all places. The port, which circulated hundreds of people almost every day, different kinds and personalities, was filled to the brim with stories, legends and myths, gathered from the whole New World. Flint, for himself, never really paid any attention to the crowds, but a sideways glance was thrown sometimes. In the humid and hot weather of Nassau it was common for people to wear clothes with short sleeves, leaving their bare wrists for everyone to see. Golden Spirals, hugging slender or brawny wrists were, indeed, a rare sight.

_Soulmates_ were a rare trait.

Truth be told, some people even had the guts to call bullshit on the whole Bond thing, but Flint, as feared and terrifying as he was, couldn't deny that it was as true as the sun rising in the east. A long time ago, in a different lifetime and a different place, he had witnessed a Bond—a beautiful, strong power—that left him breathless and weak at the knees. Even so, there was one thing which continued to haunt him after all these years.

The lack of Spiral or Name on his own wrist.

Lieutenant James McGraw and Captain Flint were, indeed, two different persons, by the will of destiny confined in one body. But for all the distinction, both of them had something in common — or didn’t have at all.

James Flint didn't have a Soulmate. Not that he wished for one – not now and certainly not for the past ten years. A long time ago, he thought himself capable of such a Bond. He even dared to hope, dared to wish, but in the end, seeing a golden Spiral on Miranda's wrist with the Name “Thomas Hamilton” had shown him that those hopes and wishes weren't meant for him. Later, he saw the Name “Miranda Hamilton” on the wrist of the man he’d given his heart to, but he didn't let despair and sadness overcome him. Not when those two remarkable people, bonded with one another, had let him into their world, shared love and devotion with him, and, eventually, committed a crime for him. Their relationship had been torn to shreds, and Thomas himself was pried from their arms.

They’d come to Nassau, without him and without hope. They never talked about the Bond, had intended to never speak of it again, until one day Miranda cried out in her sleep, bolting from the bed and clutching her wrist. The Spiral burned with an inner fire, flashed a bloody crimson and then, before either of them could do anything, all the color went out, leaving just a barely-visible trace of itself with the Name utterly faded.

No words were spoken, no screams were freed. They both knew what it meant. On that day. Miranda's soul died with Thomas. Flint had wished for his soul to leave him too, to break free from his awful shell of a body and leave aside only an empty husk. To feel nothing, to know nothing – to die that day with Thomas.

But he didn’t. His soul remained, so he pushed it in so deep that no one would be able to find it again. In the pitch black of the darkness that rose within him, his wretched ugly spirit would be locked away till his final breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Season 1 canon and non-canon developments. Flint being lovely and charming and Silver is on his way to become a "You shit".

Gates waved his hands at him, babbling some shit about how he should be “calm and composed” and “behave rationally” in front of their “fellow partners”. Flint wanted to strangle him right then and there but resisted the urge. For what it was worth, Hal was a good man. Not a friend – Flint didn't have friends and sure as hell never intended to make any, but he respected Gates and recognized his value for himself and the crew. 

Gates finished his lecture and the rest of the members of the meeting returned. Flint gritted his teeth and looked straight ahead – precisely _not_ at Charles fucking Vane, who was lurking in his corner, smoking whatever noxious shit he always put in his mouth, and grinning at him like a beast. Flint deliberately avoided any eye contact, focusing instead on Rackham and whatever bullshit he was saying.

Jack Rackham, with an “Anne Bonny” insignia on his wrist. Now that was a sight. Flint straightened almost involuntarily and stared a while longer on the skin-carved letters. Jack Rackham, of all people, had a Soulmate. He looked—the Spiral was on Bonny's wrist, with his Name in it as well. Flint suppressed a snort, thinking of what her reaction might have been to the Bond’s creation, for how ruthless and tough she was on a surface. To have this – probably in her own opinion – “soul-loving-sappy-shit” must be a great challenge for her personality. Honestly, Flint couldn’t care less.

Even so, it seemed even Vane's men – as fucked up and crazy as their captain was – had a deep connection that even death wouldn’t be able to tear apart.

After some time, an agreement was reached and the meeting came to an end. Flint felt satisfied – as much as a man can be when in the beginning he was strictly against the whole affair. But Gates had a valid point, much to Flint’s irritation, so the whole thing was set and agreed upon.

Until, of course, Miss Guthrie, later that night, made some adjustments. Flint watched, unfazed, but with a hint of amusement the dramatic scene. At least by the end of it he could say that he was truly satisfied, as his circumstances had ended up right where he’d wanted them to be.

He went to Miranda later that night. Stepped inside her house, where he knew he was welcomed and loved. Not the way they both wanted, and sure as hell not the way it was long ago, but the love remained and, resting in their shared bed, Flint could only hope it’d be like this forever.

The darkness lulled him into sleep, whispering “It won’t It won’t It won’t” until everything he knew was black and hollow.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The pig was fucking _ruined_. Not only was it not edible at all – it smelled like shit. Flint couldn’t quite wrap his head around how exactly someone smart enough to save his own life from a whole drove of pirates might just put himself in danger with just a single piece of meat.

Especially when he was supposedly a “very good cook”—at least according to Gates. By all means he should’ve thrown him to the wolves – the crew, in this case – and just let them deal with him. However, given the circumstances, he couldn’t very well do that at the moment. Not right now.

_We might be friends by then..._

Flint suddenly remembered his words and gritted his teeth, spitting another shitty piece of pig on the sand below his feet. The cook – John Silver – watched him with visible unease, shifting from one foot to the other. He was scared of him and Flint felt it to the core of his own bones. That he knew what to do with. That was his way of controlling those around him—with fear and terror. With blood and gold. John Silver preferred the latter and hoped to have it. Flint knew that his and only his volition would have the last word on that matter.

Flint demanded another pig and was met with surprise from the cook. Silver blinked at him twice and even tried to say something, but fortunately for him, went quietly.

Flint paid him no mind – even not in the process of preparing the second pig. Then he had better things to do, distracting himself with his notes and the task of the future sailing course. He dulled the outside noise and fully concentrated on his duty as a captain. Until, of course, Silver interrupted him once again with whatever bullshit were rolling over his head.

He wasn’t dumb - _that_ Flint new instantly—and it irritated him to no end. He was smart, with a tricky personality and this ever-present confidence on his face, as though he knew exactly where to lead the whole conversation and how to convince anyone about anything he wanted them to believe.

Flint had despised him from the moment their eyes met for the first time.

Silver had the guts to talk to him _against_ Billy and Flint barely suppressed the urge to slit his throat right then and there.

“Trust me,” the bastard said, keeping the most honest and open expression on his face.

Flint would rather consider the prospect of returning to England and begging for a pardon than let himself trust this rodent. Which, in his case, meant _never_.

“Turn your pig, it’s almost done”, he barked instead, jerking his chin up, shooing away unwanted company.

Silver tried to speak again, thought better of it and retreated to his previous task. Flint found himself unable to resume his own. Rage bubbled inside; burning hot and he squeezed a fist, trying to calm down. When half an hour later, a bowl with a steaming piece of pig was placed in front of him, he furrowed his brow and glanced up. Silver stood there again, looking as uneasy as he was before.

“What is it?” Flint asked in a low rumble. Damn it all, he'd almost calmed himself and there it was again.

Silver shifted once more.

“The pig—” he barely managed before Flint jerked his head irritably.

“Take that away, I don’t need it”.

“But—” the bastard tried to protest, without even trying to take the bowl. Damn it all, it smelled rather nice.

“I. Don’t. Fucking. Need. It.” Flint stressed every word, looking him straight in the eye. “Besides—”

“I know it’s nasty,” Silver shrugged before he even had a chance to finish. “But it’s literally of your own doing, so…” he trailed off and shrugged again, feigning ignorance.

Flint frowned – he didn’t like to be interrupted, but decided not to press the subject. Besides, he really thought the first pig was nasty enough for him to lose any appetite he might have had– even if he was the one who cooked it. Silver, eventually, was in charge of it for hours after that, so he had enough time to screw up the whole pig again.

This time Flint couldn’t care less if the crew strangled him, and the last part of the schedule be damned. So he hasn’t said a word, breaking their eye contact and losing himself in his task again. Silver stood there awkwardly for a moment and then left, not taking the bowl with him. Flint felt his mouth twitch irritably, but said nothing.

The steaming piece was still there when Miss Guthrie came for a talk, and when Randall was trapped under the crushing weight of the Walrus. Flint didn’t touch a single part of it. Even when he strode to Silver and threw him the bloody cleaver—the thing that had helped save one crewmate and lose another in the process. Silver looked at him with bright blue eyes and Miranda’s name – surname – fell from his lips with such ease, it was as though he knew her personally.

Flint hasn’t felt the ever present anger then. He stared at Billy and Gates, speaking in hushed tones, leaning into each other like some mu-… But no, he won’t think about it like that. Not right now. The stakes were too high for him to lose himself in doubt about his men. This will have to wait, for a better chance.

“Captain?” he heard then. He turned around.

Silver was still looking at him with unreadable expression. Flint frowned at him and Silver rummaged through some tools before holding a clean cloth in his outstretched hand.

“You should wash your face”, he pointed, with a tug at his lips – almost a smile, nearly a smirk. Flint felt himself scowling. “No need to be the most feared captain even now, among your people”.

Flint snatched the cloth a little too roughly and went to the water. He felt those eyes at his back and anger burned inside him like a roaring flame.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The whole affair with the Andromache was a complete, total mess, and Flint felt exhausted and irritated at the same time. Exhausted by the night’s events and irritated by Miss Guthrie and her accusations, which had proved to have some actual sense in them, given Billy’s speech the night before. Flint decided to deal with Miranda later, at the moment focusing on Eleanor and her sudden concern in the fate of one particular man—the man situated in the far corner of the room, looking as unfazed and nonchalant as possible.

Flint frowned at the open threat from Eleanor and only added, with acid in his tone:

“What a day I missed.” Then he was out, Silver right behind him. 

“You sure have the guts to make Miss Guthrie your ally,” commented Gates, when they strode right to the beach where the crew was preparing to set sail. “How did you manage that?”

Silver smiled at him with that shit-eating grin of his he’d been wearing back in Guthrie’s office.

“I wouldn’t count on her protection, if I were you,” Flint stopped in his tracks and fully turned to the bastard. “She won’t be there when we get the Urca, and making alliances behind my back won’t do you any good,” he snapped.

Silver actually frowned at him and looked almost defensive.

“It wasn’t my intention in the first place,” he said, as if to justify himself. “Specifically, I didn’t have a choice; she demanded something from me and I just did it.”

“How generous of you,” Flint replied sarcastically, and Silver actually fucking pouted, looking almost offended by the double-meaning of the words.

Flint leveled him with a hard stare, and before Silver could compose himself enough to spill whatever bullshit his brain was producing, he left without another word or sideways glance. He had a more important task waiting for him.

That task turned out to be difficult. Miranda pleaded with him to accept the pardon, but he just looked at her as though she was talking in a foreign language. He just couldn’t understand, he’d never even thought of ending their life here like this. Boston, of all places. Pardons, of all things.

He’d never bow before them. He’d never beg. He made sure she understood that clearly, but the hurt on her face punched him in the gut. He left, slamming the door shut, pretending he didn’t hear a reference to a certain man in her parting words.

Later that night, when he found the rum was incapable of erasing the hollowness between his ribs, he found Eleanor and pleaded, “Tell me we’re not crazy, you and I.” When she replied, she had a point, but, as he stood on a shaking legs, he realized that her point was not something he wanted to hear at the moment. He hadn’t known what exactly he was expecting, but not this. So he left, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead, and leaving a trace of emptiness in his wake.

+++++++++++++

The Walrus was quiet and vacant, save for the night watch and a few crewmates lurking in the corners, doing whatever they wanted – Flint didn’t pay them any mind. He stopped at the door of his cabin, unsure and confused as to why exactly he’d ended up here in the first place. It hadn’t been his intention to board the Walrus this night, even if he lacked any will to return to Miranda. He could’ve stayed at the tavern or in a bungalow on the beach.

Instead he was here now, feeling a strange pull, a nameless longing that drew him to this place. Now, secured in his own cabin, he stretched out on the bed and made himself relax, tried to clear his mind of all thoughts and concerns and ugly feelings, crippling though they felt.

The rest never came. The pull only grew stronger. He sat up in bed, swinging his legs off to the side, and buried his face in hands, groaning.

_What is it? What is it?_

His head felt heavy and filled with so much noise he could barely suppress the urge to whine like a wounded animal. Unknown feelings swirled deep inside, like a sea storm, making nausea roil in his stomach.

_What is it?_

The world felt strange, the air was stale in an instant and it became hard to breathe. Flint stood on unsteady legs, feeling the deck sway under him, but he managed to get to the door and open it. An eerie quiet enveloped him, lulled him into some sort of drowsy state. He couldn’t comprehend any thought except for the urge of his body to move. So he moved, feeling nothing, understanding nothing, hearing and seeing nothing – just the rising black, lurking in the shadows, calling for him, opening for him, guiding him to come inside right here just like that-

“Captain?” he heard then and the fog cleared.

The darkness hissed like a snake, crawling back, vanishing in the depths of his mind, leaving the faint yellow lights of the lanterns, attached to the ceiling, and a single man, standing right there before him.

“I thought you wouldn’t be coming till tomorrow,” the man said and Flint blinked once, twice, before the face in front of him cleared enough to see it fully.

It was their cook – the thief – John Silver. Flint stared at him and said nothing; he had no words or thoughts right now. He was so tired and felt as though a ship killer had crashed into him with full force, leaving him breathless and weary.

“Captain?” Silver took a step toward him, his brow furrowing as if he didn’t understand something, which was maybe just another one of his pranks. He always feigned ignorance, turning it in his favor eventually.

Flint hated him so much his head hurt.

But why would he, anyway? They barely knew each other. He shouldn’t pay any mind to this man. He wasn’t worth it at all, so why… _Why?_

“What?” Silver asked. Flint must’ve said it out loud.

“What’re you doing here?” he managed to croak. His voice was rough, as if he hadn’t used it for a long time. The dry air scratched at his throat, leaving a dull ache somewhere deep inside.

“Well, that was my question to begin with,” Silver smiled at him, as if he was in charge of the whole situation.

There wasn’t any kind of situation here, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s my ship,” Flint rumbled and leveled him with a hard stare – as much as he was able to. “I don’t need anyone’s fucking permission to board it. Especially yours.”

“I was just curious, that’s all,” Silver shrugged, backing away a little.

“Why are _you_ here, while the crew is still ashore?” Flint furrowed his brow and gave him a suspicious look.

Silver shifted a little, some strange emotion coloring his face for a brief moment. Something like a mix of irritation and annoyance, but it was quickly replaced with his usual cocky attitude. Flint barely knew him, but he could already guess some things about the man’s behavior.

“Helped Randall haul his weight in here,” said Silver finally. “Thought it would be wise to do it now, before the crew boards. Well, at least most of them.”

Then he cocked his head to the side, a slight gesture, but Flint didn’t like it. The question was about to come, he sensed it immediately.

“Still, you’re here right now,” Silver added thoughtfully. “I thought the Captain should board the ship along with the whole crew. Or, rather after the crew, being the last man on board, as if to draw attention. But surely you don’t need this, don’t you?” he flashed a grin. “You’re a hard man not to notice, I suppose.”

Flint felt a headache starting to rise anew. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head and spoke quietly, but with a tone in his voice that made the damn cook stop his babbling.

“I don’t care what you think or what you may assume. And I don’t give a damn about whatever deal you had with Miss Guthrie. I’ll decide your fate on this journey and you’d better shut your fucking mouth and stay away from me until we reach the gold. It would be wise, I can assure you, and much safer for your life, which is in grave danger right now if you won’t stop talking”.

Silver felt silent and watched him with his eyes. They were blue, Flint suddenly thought. But did it matter?

He walked away from him, not sparing him another glance. He needed rest, he wanted to lay his head on a pillow and not feel anything. There was a journey ahead that would require all of his strength, and he needed as much as he could muster.

The darkness returned the moment he laid on his cot, but this time he welcomed it like a long lost lover.


	3. Chapter 3

The sailing went surprisingly smoothly, at first. The whole crew was so docile; in other circumstances Flint would’ve even suggested these men weren’t pirates at all. The orders were followed, the complaints – drown out. Everything was fine. Suspiciously fine, much to Flint’s taste. But he didn’t dwell on those thoughts; after all the crew was so humble in the wake of a huge prize, waiting for them at the end of the journey. It was pointless to trade their energy now on simple things.

Such as the food, which was surprisingly bearable. Maybe thanks to Randall, who managed to stay with the crew, given the state his body was in. Mr. DeGroot mentioned that the whole “staying” thing was up to Mr. Silver and his newly responsibility for their injured crewmate. Of course, Flint didn’t believe at all in “Mr. Silver’s good intentions” as was spoken in hushed tones between men, but he also didn’t voice any complaints, letting the topic off completely.

When the time came for him to go down to the galley and eat, his stomach was growling with such a force he would’ve even had that pig from the beach, everything be damned. The meal time was short but fluent and quiet – most of the men stuffed their bellies already and the deck was almost empty. Save for the Randall, lurking in the corner, a night-shift, sleeping with their faces almost in the dishes and, of course, Silver.

The latter caught his eye and them suddenly was too close for Flint’s liking. He nodded to the empty plate and asked with a half-smirk:

“Did you like it?”

He grumbled something in his rum, not going to give an answer to that.

“Clearly you did”, the bastard answered for him though, smirking full force now. “I’m glad you enjoined it”.

So much for staying silent and not participating in any kind conversation with this man.

“I didn’t enjoy anything”, Flint frowned and put his mug with and audible “thud”. “And, besides, you clearly didn’t cook it. He did”.

He nodded to the corner Randall was occupying at the moment but Silver just shrugged, his smirk never faltered.

“I helped a lot”.

“You’d better didn’t,” Flint wished acidly. “The crew is one step behind from long-awaited prize and it won’t do you any good to stop them with the need to shit so much and so often to have the gold slip from their grasp in the end”. 

Every word had a clear intention to offend but Silver seemed too cheerful and easy. Instead he waived a hand in the air and asked in a light tone:

“What if I’m a better cook than you think?”

“I hardly doubt that”, Flint deadpanned, wiping this smirk immediately from his face. But Silver cocked his head a little and seemed somewhat curious all of sudden.

“This gold will be your prize most of all,” he suddenly said, looking at him with almost searching gaze. “And yet, somehow you sound as though this is not your intention at all. The Urca, I mean. If I knew better, I’d thought you were forced on this journey and right now you’d better be somewhere else”.

Flint lifted his mug with all the composure he could muster, forcing himself to stay calm and not to break the bastards face with his fists. No one dared to spoke to him in such a way. He stifled the murder intent and stood abruptly, leveling Silver with a look from head to toes.

The silence was almost palpable and then Flint ended this ridiculous “meeting” altogether, heading to the quarterdeck. The moment he steeped on it, there was a thundering noise from within thick gray clouds overhead.

The storm was coming.

 

+++++++++++++

 

To Silver’s credit he was right on time. Flint had to admit he thought it would require an order to bring him here in the first place. During the whole sail they crossed paths only on the galley – it was natural for Silver to avoid the captain’s cabin as much as possible, given the circumstances. True to himself, Flint still hadn’t thought about the cook’s future, given he would grant him one.

The storm shook the ship with such a force, Silver even stumbled and had to clutch the door with both hands, before closing it and quickly striding to the desk Flint was currently situated at.

Gates never said a word, just threw some cloth in Silver’s face, which, really, wouldn’t help at all – Silver was completely drenched with rain and waves. Flint would’ve bet there was a growing puddle beneath his feat. But there were similar ones everywhere in the cabin, water streaming in endless drops from the ceiling and even from the window behind his back.

Anyway there was a more important task at hand right now.

Silver squinted at the paper in a dim swaying light, scribbling something that would’ve better be the last part of the schedule, smearing the sheet in the process with water drops, slipping from his curls. Flint watched him intently, focusing on his fingers, on the part of his face that was almost covered by the mop of black hair – oily in the yellow light of the candle.

As if sensing his gaze, Silver lifted his head a little and looked at him too. The moment passed and neither of them spoke a word. The waves crashed and the wind howled but all the noise suddenly went down a little – Flint couldn’t comprehend why.

“Are you done?” he managed at last, shaking off this sudden stupor.

Silver nodded and handed him a paper then straitened up and clutched the table for balance. Flint sensed his gaze but this time paid it no mind. Gates watched him too, silent and frowning, almost reverberating with need to know whether the last part was correct or not.

Flint vaguely thought that Silver should’ve be tenser at the moment too. But when he, admitting that the page content was accurate, lifted his eyes again, Silver smiled. As if he was certain from the very first moment who’ll be the winner in this game.

The anger flashed, quickly replaced by a pang of irritation – but nothing more. Flint thought to himself that he somehow became content with this man on his ship. It wasn’t very good news, but he couldn’t care less now.

But it turned out Silver was nervous indeed, when he stopped in his tracks even with a direct order in his pocket and asked one thing bothering him most of all.

“Keep wondering”, Flint jerked his chin and added nothing else, but, judging by the slight relief that crossed Silver’s face, he caught the point. 

And then he was gone, leaving him with Gates. The latter squinted a little and nodded in the direction of a closed door.

“Did you make up your mind?”

“About what?” Flint mumbled reflexively, throwing another glance to his log and already calculating the complete course in his mind.

“What’re you gonna do with him?” Gates specified and Flint frowned.

“And what’s the point of question?”

“Sooner or later the men will find out his involvement in Urca’s case”, Gates was speaking in a hushed tone, with a mix of wariness and something else Flint still couldn’t decipher. Hal acted strange, he must’ve admitted. “And you know how the crew deals with thieves among them.”

“Why do you even care?” Flint raised one brow, still not quite understanding the direction this conversation was heading.

Gates just shrugged indifferently – it was clear as a day that something bothered him, and it was not the cook’s wellbeing at all.

So he took the bottle and Gates took a seat. Neither of them spoke about John Silver later that night. But the things they discussed Flint didn’t like either.

…And then morning came and suddenly there wasn’t any trace of Urca. And Gates looked at him again with this expression he didn’t know at all. And talked to him, decided for him, accused him… Anger mixed with hurt, leaving a hot dull ache somewhere between his ribs, he couldn’t even breathe, he tried to explain, to persuade, to demand in the end. It ended without avail, fell to the deaf ears, crushed by the weight of judgment and the look no one should’ve paid him once again. Not after all those years, after he lost so much and sacrificed even more.

No, not again.

And then Gates stopped talking – stopped moving altogether. No word fell from his mouth; no blink of an eye was cast. No breath was shed.

He was dead in his arms, the weight that pinned him to the floor both physically and emotionally. Suddenly he didn’t care anymore, everything be damned. The Urca, the Walrus, the crew, the gold, the England…

…which took everything from him! And now all this won’t matter, and shall be wasted, casted aside by those who knew better, who thought that they had the fucking right!

But now everything was doomed. He held the dead weight of the man who came as close to a friend as possible in his arms and everything was lost now. The crew won’t tolerate this, but he didn’t care. He felt as though all the oxygen left him, he barely breathed.

That’s why he lowered the gun. He pushed Silver’s hands aside, but that was all. His strength gave out. There wasn’t a way to escape the chaos now.

…Until it was.

“Take it from me”, he heard and all the thoughts quieted. “There’s always a way”.

He managed to turn his head and John Silver still was there, right beside him. His face was grim and stern and a little worried, but his voice never faltered. And he looked back at him with such certainty that Flint almost felt it. Somewhere deep inside he felt it.

A flicker of hope.

And gave it a chance.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Then everything progressed really fast from there: Spaniards, demanding answers of who the fuck they were, Dufresne’s accusations, crew’s deafening silence, hot searing pain in his shoulder and a loud shot from the cannon, made by Silver, who…

…was still on his side, even though Flint, somewhere deep in his mind, questioned why would it be like that.

The world became bloody and so loud, he thought it would explode around him. He felt tired once again, screams, gunshots and howls reverberated in his head, making it harder to stay awake with each passing minute.

He lifted a hand that weighted at least a hundred pounds and wiped his brow. There was blood on his fingers when he looked at them. Flint blinked drowsily and then glanced around. At his ship, at his crew, at the white smoke, which clouded his vision…

It was so hot in the beginning and suddenly all he felt was a freezing cold, seeping into every core of his being. To consume him, to take him, to drown him.

Well, now, maybe, he wouldn’t mind so much.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The world slipped away and then returned with crushing force and blinding light, shining in his eyes. Flint groaned when with the light came pain – hot and dull ache somewhere in his shoulder. He was shot, he remembered and suddenly every memory of previous events flashed through his head.

He tried to sit, to move, but the pain was too much, his body just wouldn’t listen and…

“I’d stay still, if I were you,” came a voice then and Flint squinted through the light at the speaker.

Silver was right beside him, sitting in the sand, looking at him with an unreadable expression. Vaguely Flint mentioned that he wasn’t tense or stressed, given their current circumstances.

Which, by the way…

He winced and tried to sit again. It worked better the second time, but his body screamed in protest to every move and, even more than that, there was blood, still seeping from his wound in the… cloth. A once white and now strained with crimson piece of cloth, pressed to his wound.

Flint absentmindedly picked its corner with his thumb and immediately hissed, when the motion made the jolt of pain pierce his whole arm. 

“And I wouldn’t do that either,” Silver commented evenly, shifting his stance a little. His face was covered with bruises but aside from that he seemed irritatingly fine and composed.

Flint was sure that the crew now knew exactly whom to blame for this whole mess and Silver, five seconds later, confirmed his suspicions. The Walrus almost drowned, people died and much more were injured. And the solid weight of the blame was placed on both of them.

“I was sure they’d kill us both the moment we ended on a beach,” Silver said in the end, looking slightly uncomfortable from his own words.

“Then why didn’t they?” Flint croaked and dragged himself upright with renewed force. The pain ate at his body and, more importantly, at his nerves, which were far from fine already.

Silver regarded him with a strange look then, as if he tried to come up with the plan of how exactly to spill his next news. Flint watched him expectantly and when the answer never came he pressed:

“Well?”

Dufrense made an appearance right at that moment, disturbing their little “chat” and looking at them with visible frown and objection. He left unanswered Flint’s question and walked away, not sparing them another glance.

Silver offered a hand but Flint declined – he wasn’t some gravely injured piece of flesh to be hauled on his feet with someone’s help. The process of slipping on his shirt, however, was excruciating. His hand refused to move without violent shaking and hot needles of agony, spearing it from each side. Silver approached him once again and stood there, watching for a few moments.

Then he took the shirt from his hands.

“Let me help,” he said. “It’d be much faster”.

Flint, for how tired he felt, decided not to complain this time. Silver guided his hands through every sleeve with slow delicacy, which Flint hadn’t expected from him at all. He watched him doing the task and said nothing, even though his injured arm still hurt, despite Silver’s efforts to be as gentle as possible.

He sank his own ship, killed his fellow crewmate and put life of his men in a great danger and still someone on this beach bothered with showing him some kind of regard. John Silver of all the people – the thief, who was partly responsible for the whole mess in the first place.

“Captain?” the man in question called and Flint blinked, meeting his eyes.

They were blue. But he knew it already, didn’t he?

“What?”

“We should go,” Silver reminded him.

And they walked, guarded by two men. Dufrense wasn’t far from them; he waited impatiently and then lead the way. That’s when Silver mentioned the schedule again and the weather. Flint was puzzled for a few moments, until they came to a stop and he was handed a spyglass.

And all this made sense again.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Silver didn’t take the news well – the truth about Flint’s intentions regarding the Spanish warship. He started panicking, babbling nonsense (St. Augustine of all the places! Week on foot! Flint was so done), quickly backed away and decided to take his chances somewhere else, away from here and Nassau.

Flint, feeling some dark twisted satisfaction, spilled the unpleasant truth about his “future path” and watched smugly as Silver stopped in his tracks and seemed at complete loss. But this whole stupid talk was getting them nowhere, so Flint walked straight ahead in the sea. He wasn’t even listening to Silver’s words, which he threw in his back; he didn’t even care if reclaiming Man’o’War would have to be only his own task – the goal was set and he went for it.

And Silver followed him. 

When they got inside things, despite Flint’s threat, went upside down, he felt a strong urge to snap the bastard’s neck right then and there, the fucking snoring Spaniards be dawned with their fucking ship (how exactly big was this thing anyway?!). 

But Silver, despite how tense he was, didn’t show any trace of fear. No, instead he looked at Flint with determination and even some kind of offense, clearly holding a grudge on him in this particular case. Then he talked and Flint felt his hand, holding the knife, relax almost against his will.

They were pressed to each other so tightly; he felt every beat of Silver’s heart against his own. Felt his hand that lay on his collarbone – not on the injured shoulder. No. Silver purposely placed his hand as far as possible from his wound. He thought about it even with Flint’s knife near his throat and visible threat for his life.

He would’ve asked “Why?” but he couldn’t even say what the meaning of the question was.

They stood in silence for a few moments. The ship was rocking – either from the waves or a deafening snoring the half of Spaniards was providing, swinging in their hammocks like a dead weights.

Flint looked at the man in his arms and no thoughts crossed his mind. He couldn’t think – he tried to, but they never came. The moment felt stilled, all the background noise almost subsided. And Silver looked at him, not saying anything else, with this bright blue eyes of his and a slight confusion on his face.

The world around them felt strangely bright too – not much, but all the colors intensified a little. Or maybe it was the blinding light, which streamed from above. 

Then Silver shifted a little – or maybe the ship rocked too hard, but the blade nipped at the skin beneath his chin. Silver hissed and jerked back. Flint jerked too, quickly taking the knife as far from him as possible.  
“Sorry” was on the tip of his tongue but was never voiced. 

Precious seconds of illusory calmness ended too quickly and Flint found himself again fighting for his life. One second he was on a quarterdeck, breathing in salty breeze; the other – both of them were again in a critical danger, this time, however, the death, it seemed, was inevitable.

Especially when Silver decided to betray him and started talking.

“I’m John Silver and he’s Captain James Flint, we came here-”

Flint felt as thought someone punched him in the gut with blade and then turned it. And again. Anger, mixed with rage and sudden hurt almost gave him enough strength to rip the bindings with his bare hands and kill everyone here, including with treachery, disgusting piece of shit and not to think anymore about…

His name. No one knew his real name. Not even Gates and Eleanor, only Miranda did. He was “Captain Flint”, so how exactly did this…

The thought flashed and quickly faded away when Silver suddenly sprang into action and Flint found himself with a “partner in theft” again. Together they managed to overpower the Spaniards in the cabin and lock the door. Then the situation became shitty again – the whole amount of Spanish crew wanted to saw them dead and they had two pistols, a blade and a pocket knife. Wonderful.

Still the miracle happened and their own crew joined the fight. And then they sailed away from Spaniards, from the Urca, the gold and the Walrus, still decking somewhere below the hills, battered and broken.

The men all seemed preoccupied with the task to get the fuck away from here as soon as possible; no one paid any attention to him and Silver. It was a rather good sigh, given the circumstances, so Flint stepped on a lower deck, as far from his (not his anymore) men as possible.

And Silver went after him, not saying another word. Flint felt his presence at the back and vaguely thought that he wanted to ask him something. But he couldn’t remember what that was exactly and decided to leave it behind.

He sat in the nearest hammock and sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. His body ached all over, even his head hurt like hell. It would be good to rest, to sleep and to eat something but those were not the options in the first place. His life still hang by a thread and soon the news would come – was he a dead man or not.

“Do you think they’ll take it to account?” came a voice above him.

Flint looked at Silver, noticed the bruises on his face, matted hair, and a nervous glint in his eyes. He was afraid then – well, he had every right to be.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly and sighed again, then winced at a sharp throb in his shoulder.

Silver just looked at him for a few seconds and then said:

“I’ll go get Howell”.

“There’s no need for that,” Flint replied a little gruffly. He pressed a hand to the wound, as if to stop the bleeding that surely opened again.

“Well, I’m quite certain there is,” Silver inched closer, nodding to his shoulder. “The whole thing would be pointless if you bleed to death in some corner of this ship.”

“I don’t intend to die in a meantime,” Flint deadpanned, strangely offensive on a topic like this. “And I hardly would, from a wound like that. So don’t make a fuss over it.”

Silver visibly frowned down on him, then chewed at his bottom lip and… walked away, not saying anything else. Flint signed for the third time – he took the Spanish Warship and still felt defeated. He needed rest – just for a couple of hours. The crew forgot about him for a moment, as it seemed, and even if they did not he deserved to relax and everything else be damned.

He lay in a hammock with groan of pain and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

His name. Something was about his name, but he doubted it mattered right now.

The world wasn’t so colorful anymore. Maybe it was tiredness or something else – Flint didn’t know. He didn’t care. All he wanted was to sleep.

Next time he opened eyes it was because of stinging pain in his shoulder. He sat with a sharp hiss and almost lashed at whoever disturbed him. It was Silver, of fucking course, with… bloody piece of rag in his hands. He loomed over him for a moment, then straightened again.

Flint glanced at his shoulder – there were a clean bandage and, judging by the smell, the wound was disinfected with something. He glanced at Silver with a frown and an unspoken question.

“I happen to find these in doctor Howell’s new quarters,” Silver shrugged lightly. “Thought he wouldn’t mind, if I borrow some.”

“You stole them,” Flint clarified with a grunt and sat, swinging his legs over the side of a hammock.

Silver watched him incredulously.

“That’s everything that bothers you at the moment?” he asked, looking as though he couldn’t believe in Flint’s train of thought.

He didn’t reply, checking the fresh bandage. It was placed rather awkwardly and Flint made a wry face at that.

“What?” Silver lifted his palms a little. “Don’t look like that, I’m not a doctor. I don’t have delicate fingers they operate with.”

But he did, Flint thought suddenly. He helped him with the shirt rather deli-

Fuck that all! He tried not to think of it again. What was the point anyway?

Instead he decided not to dwell on Silver’s medical “skills” too much and changed the topic.

“How long was I out?”

“The sun is still high enough,” Silver shrugged, relaxing a little. Then a shadow crossed his face. “Mister Dufresne wants us on a quarterdeck soon. There’ll be a vote.”

Flint caught the tension in his shoulders and a panicked gleam in his eyes. He needed to stand and go there, to know what his fate would be. And he shouldn’t care at all of Silver’s way of thinking or his fears.

He didn’t care.

But all of sudden he felt his mouth open and a words where out if him before he could stop himself.

“They wouldn’t do it.”

Silver started and looked at him in disbelief and doubt.

“How can you be so sure?” he whispered, though no one was here except them.

I’m not, Flint wanted to say to that but remained silent and just looked at him with a confidence he didn’t really have. 

The world felt bright again. Flint didn’t try to grasp why.

Silver stared at him too and Flint saw that panic never left his eyes. It was still there and still fresh and new, but his posture relaxed a little. He wasn’t drawn taut all over and never broke eye contact.

There was stomping and loud string of voices somewhere above them – it broke the moment, time flew again. Flint jerked his head upwards.

“Shall we?”

Silver nodded downward.

“I brought you some boots. Thought you’d grow tired of making splinters in you feet,” he said with a shadow of a smirk.

Flint wanted to break his neck once again.

“Shit,” he muttered instead and grabbed the boots, lying right beside his hammock.

The world stayed bright even when the night came and a vote was placed. Man’o’War sailed towards Nassau, the crew minded their own business and Flint knew that tomorrow everything will change. He’ll be a captain again and no one was going to stop him.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” the smile Silver gave him was bright and wicked and everything a good man shouldn’t wear on his face.

But the man standing close to him wasn’t good at all.

And he was damn right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About The Name... It wasn't mentioned in the series and I kept wondering how exactly did Silver know Flint's given name. Even Eleanor was suprised when Miranda mentioned "James" while talking to her. Maybe Gates knew (but I doubt that too), so in this fic I decided to point this out: no one (except, of course, Hamiltons) knows that Flint is "James". Now Silver knows too. Nobody told him it, but, as its obvious by the whole story, he's his Soulmate, that's why it's not a secret for him. He himself didn't understood it - the moment was rushed and they were in danger, it's just slipped and he paid it no attention at that time.


	4. Chapter 4

“Why would you do that?” asked Flint out of pure curiosity, fingers fumbling with a knot on a rope he currently held, just to busy himself with something.

Somehow he guessed the answer already; Silver voiced it out loud and Flint found himself observing his expression. The flickering emotions in his eyes when he told him about “Wages” and “Hunger”. Some shadow, which crossed his face too quickly to notice. But Flint did.

And then…

“From you,” Silver finished, looking at him and Flint saw a barely suppressed smirk in the corners of his mouth.

He chuckled – couldn’t help himself. Strangely so, but this short and somewhat meaningless conversation was… fine for him. He felt relaxed, which he didn’t feel in days. The world was calm and bright – the latter he was somehow already resigned with. For the time being, at most.

Then Silver reminded him that in Nassau they’ll be unceremoniously expelled from the ship and Flint felt irritation again. But not at the man, sitting in front of him, whose knees bumped his fingers with each rocking of the ship.

He could’ve move back a little, increasing the space between them. He didn’t do it. And didn’t know why.

Instead he inched closer to him and said right in his face:

“In less than two days I intend to be a captain again,” his pride, his confidence, his power – words where full of all these. “I suggest you find a way of earning you way back into this crew as well”.

And it was an important truth – even with his renewed captaincy he won’t be able to keep Silver on the ship without crew’s consent. Their word would be final in this case and Silver needed their voices to remain here and to head back to Urca he lusted for so much.

Silver seemed thoughtful and Flint supposed he didn’t understand his implication.

“I mean…” he signed, busing himself with the task of explanation already but Silver cut him short.

“I get it,” he nodded and bit on his lip. Lowered his gaze, frowned for a moment and Flint noticed a small wrinkle appearing on his forehead. His hand twitched but stayed where it was.

He never understood the intention.

“I’ll figure something out,” moreover said Silver, lifting his gaze again. He was almost smiling now, looking cheerfully composed as though he already solved all of his problems. Flint was almost envious of this carefree attitude despite the shitty situation they were currently in.

“But do tell me,” Silver lowered his voice a little “how exactly are you planning to sort this entire out? Your captaincy, I mean”.

Ah, curious, of course.

“You’ll have to wait and look for yourself,” he avoided the direct answer and saw Silver frown a little.

“…Okay,” he said after a brief pause. “I just hope this time it won’t include sinking Man’o’War like you did with Walrus”.

“You helped a lot,” Flint immediately bristled, feeling offended and irritated anew.

Silver just shrugged, not bothered by implication or his tone at all.

…Then there was the meal time and Silver, it seemed, definitely came up with a plan to remain on this crew. After a moment Flint knew – and saw – exactly what the plan was.

This was pure idiocy and after the crew “settled things” he had a very distinct intention to tell it Silver right in the face. Which was bruised now a little, no wonder. Even so, Silver seemed unbothered by how things were progressing; more so, he intended to proceed.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Flint remarked, scratching his chin and watching how Silver pressed an open palm to his undoubtedly aching bladder. “I thought you intended to gain freedom from hunger and wages and all the shit you were telling me earlier by taking your share of gold and disappearing for good. Was I mistaken?”

“Everything’s fine,” Silver winced again, leaning on a wall to keep himself from toppling backward. He clearly was in pain.

“I honestly don’t think so,” Flint shrugged.

Silver stayed still for a moment, then looked at him and squinted a little. That was a bad sign, Flint could definitely tell it now.

“What?” he grunted, looking at him too.

“Are you… maybe, worried about me?” Silver asked out of the blue, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

Flint gave him a Look and Silver smirked openly then. They both knew that was not an option.

It wasn’t that at all.

…The second “goings-on” went as “smoothly” as the first one and Flint found himself growing bit by bit irritated. Much harder then he already was, to be precise. Silver acted like idiot, receiving blows and punches and still hauling himself up from the dirty deck, coughing blood and fucking proceeding. The crew acted like scumbags and idiots – if just one of them would sit still and not fucking react to the “next item” no one will know whom this item was referring to. But no, every damn time one of them would sprang from his seat and tried to beat the shit from Silver, which didn’t help at all.

Flint even considered for a moment (when this entire ridiculous thing began) accepting crew’s intentions, leave them for good, find another sane men and sail without parting glance to these idiots. But it was just a whim and he quickly abandoned it.

After the third “unsuccessful attempt” he decided to end it once and for all. Well, at least voicing his complaint to Silver more sternly than the first time. He had one single man on this ship who at least right now didn’t want him dead, and it would do him no good to have this man beaten to meaningless piece of drooling shit. The crew was capable of that, he knew it oh so good.

“I suggest you stop it before the crew decides to cut your tongue,” he threatens when they were alone at the galley. Well, except for Randall, but he shuffled in a corner and was snoring loudly now, so that didn’t count at all.

“Everything’s under control,” Silver’s smile was a little strained, maybe because we had a split lip, which filled his mouth with blood. Not to mention his beaten up kidneys did the same too.

“Bullshit,” Flint snapped rather irritatingly and Silver blinked at him, confusion clouding his face. “You clearly have a death wish. This head of yours work rather smoothly, why don’t you come with a better plan?”

“I find this plan good enough,” Silver shrugged, unbothered by the whole implication behind Flint’s words. “But rest assured… I almost got them, one last time and you’ll see the result”.

“Yeah, you – over the rail,” Flint deadpanned.

Silver just smiled at him again.

Flint was done with this shit. If he wanted himself dead, then so was it.

+++++++++++++

Silver sighed and placed a fist with a piece of paper on the wooden surface of their table. He didn’t touch his food – he never did before his “speeches”. And now there it was again.

“If you’re trying to impress me,” Flint poked his own meal with the fork, “it isn’t working.”

Silver sighed again, with barely audible chagrin and walked in the center, speaking loudly for every man to hear. They heard him fine, of course, and didn’t like what he was saying, of fucking course, too. Dooley went almost easy on him, the punch wasn’t hard enough, though Silver still fell on his back, groaning.

‘Stay still,’ Flint thought suddenly. ‘Don’t do it again.’

Silver never listened – how could he? It wasn’t as though they could read each other thoughts. It wasn’t possible and Flint sure as hell wouldn’t want John Silver of all the people to mess with his head.

John fucking Silver, who stood on shaking legs, swayed a little… and announced another item. About the dairy goat. The whole deck went quiet for a moment and then one man shifted. Flint hadn’t even remembered his name, he barely recalled his face (guns? cannons?) but he clearly saw his fists which both collided with Silver’s body.

It was hard – harder than the previous times. And suddenly Flint felt himself shifting too, rising from his seat, his own fists clenching so hard he heard the knuckles snap. All the thoughts left him, leaving in their wake just feelings. Anger, rage, wrath… At him, this nameless creature. At the one on the left and those ones on the right. At all of them.

They shouldn’t. They fucking shouldn’t…

Suddenly the beating stopped and the thing backfired somehow. The crew clearly didn’t like the news about the dairy goat. But they didn’t blame Silver this time. No, instead they started beating the shit out of the one responsible for the “act” itself.

And Silver lifted himself from the floor with obvious struggle; his face was covered in blood, his hair – a disheveled mess, his stance unsteady and barely upright. But then he lifted his eyes and suddenly Flint knew – he wasn’t looking at the men. He wasn’t paying them any attention – why should’ve he? Things went clearly as he orchestrated them to be. 

Silver was looking at him. Their eyes met and locked as though with a chain. Flint watched him for a moment and then nodded. And smiled.

And Silver smiled back.

The plan worked.

+++++++++++++

Later that day he became Captain again. He knew it even before the actual vote – saw it in the faces of his men, turned towards him; in the defeated slump in Mr. Dufresne’s shoulders.

In the exited enthusiasm showing openly in Silver’s expression.

Yet the vote was placed at night and soon Flint was at captain’s cabin, listening to Dufresne and saying nothing. He felt no anger, no rage, and no pity towards that man. And then he was blissfully alone, sitting at his new desk, wearing his new coat and just closing his eyes and feeling… calmness.

Until, of course, the door opened and Silver joined him. He strode right to the table and stood there, smirking at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“They love you again,” he declared almost happily. “Well, as much as they did before, to be honest. One sinking merchant’s ship – and you’ve gained your position.”

“As you did with yours,” Flint remarked, waving his hand a little. 

Silver flashed a grin, bright as a day and sat on the chair, relaxing his stance a little. He didn’t ask for permission, Flint didn’t expect it, nor would he complain. It was way past that between them. Well, technically, Silver was the other one who stole the ship they were currently at.

“So, what’s now?” he asked with obvious interest.

Flint almost snorted again – it was somehow a bit… childlike, all this excitement and delight. Silver practically bounced in his chair with it.

“Now we arrive at Nassau, tomorrow, I presume, and head straight to Hornigold. I need him to prepare the fort for the gold. Hopefully, in two days we’ll be back at Urca.”

Silver considered that for a moment and then frowned a little.

“Arrive at Nassau, you said… But we’re-”

“Yes,” Flint finished for him, somehow knowing exactly at the moment which thought occupied his mind. “We’re sailing the Spanish Warship, I know. I’m not dumb, we’ll settle things differently.”

He explained his plan in a few words and watched Silver ponder on it for a moment.

“The men wouldn’t like it,” he said at last and Flint knew it already, of course. The men always complained about anything, even if they didn’t give a shit at all.

“I know,” he nodded but Silver cut him short again.

“I’ll address them tomorrow,” he smiled lightheartedly. “There’ll be another “goings-on” so I’ll just add a new piece of information to my list.”

“You still bother with that whole thing?” Flint lifted his brows incredulously.

Silver grinned again and shrugged, Flint frowned but didn’t press. At least he hoped that he won’t be on that list ever. But, it seemed, Silver wasn’t considering this option at all. Instead he asked with a curious curl to his mouth:

“What about Mr. Dufresne? I sincerely doubt he’ll leave the ship once we arrive.”

“I wouldn’t hope for that,” Flint grumbled, thinking of a man in question. He thought about his particular case for a while now and came up with an answer that he didn’t like at all, but that kind of choice was, unfortunately, necessary. “He’ll remain as a Quartermaster.”

Silver hummed in response and seemed mulling it for a bit.

“You don’t like it,” he suddenly declared.

Flint gave him a look and caught another grin in return.

“And what about you?” he asked instead. “You’re okay with this?”

“I’m okay with everything as long as it won’t interfere with my particular goal,” Silver shrugged, never wiping that shit-eating smirk from his face. “Which, of course, is the Urca’s gold, as you know. We’re lucky that the crew wants it as much as I do, so I doubt Mr. Dufrense will cause any problems. Besides, you and I know already that they won’t listen to him now as they did before, thanks to his grant fiasco with that merchant’s ship.”

He leaned forward a bit, coking his head to the side.

“Still, how did you know exactly whether he’ll listen to you or not?”

Flint wasn’t intended to explain to him the basic knowledge of manipulation; Silver, damn him, knew that already.

“Life experience,” he responded briefly, and practically felt Silver’s next flaring emotion.

Excitement.

“You are truly amazing,” he chuckled leaning back in his chair; his eyes twinkled in the warm yellow light of the cabin, his voice silky and soft.

Flint just looked at him. Silver looked back, still wearing that smile of his – a little thoughtful, a bit mischievous, a touch of mirth at the corners of his mouth. 

The one Flint wanted to kiss at that moment. To close the distance between them, to lean forward and just know how the man of lies and mystery tasted like.

It was even worse than the whole affair with Urca. Worse than letting this man in his crew, on this (well, not exactly this, but this too) ship. Worse than stealing this particular ship and fighting the dozen of Spaniards side by side with the man who lied to him since they first met, thanks to whom all this mess started…

…who saved his life and was on his side no matter what. No matter the fact that at the moment they woke on that beach it was clearly wiser to use his silver tongue and worm his way back to the crew, leaving Flint alone with their wrath. It was much wiser not to join him – at that moment, of course, because Flint was the Captain again, eventually, but Silver couldn’t have known that then. Couldn’t he? He didn’t know the answer to that.

But the urge never left, even after those thoughts. Flint couldn’t give in, now was not the time, not to mention that the whole idea was fucking stupid and hilarious. He wasn’t even attracted to him. There wasn’t anything in this man presented before him for Flint to…

“Captain?” came that soft voice again and Flint started, frowning at him.

“What?” he snapped too harshly for his own liking. Silver blinked at him in confusion.

“You didn’t hear my last words?”

“You should repeat them,” he grunted, growing suddenly irritated. Mostly at himself.

But Silver didn’t. Instead he leaned closer again (and this wasn’t helping at all, given the current state Flint’s thoughts was in) and narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Flint snapped impatiently.

“You’re acting strange,” Silver observed him so attentively Flint felt a pang of dread creeping in. He didn’t like to be seen that way. Not by anyone. “Well, more than ever.”

The last part he didn’t like even more and bristled, opening his mouth to protest, but Silver hasn’t finished.

“What is it?” he asked and frowned a little. “Your arm again? It’s not infected, isn’t it? I can go get Dr. Howell-”

“Stop it!” Flint barked and slammed an open palm on the table. “Don’t act like you care.”

The silence that followed was heavy and almost palpable. Silver said nothing, he just kept looking at him and his face was completely unreadable. Than he sighed and stood, dragging his chair backwards.

“I’ll address the men about your plan tomorrow, if you don’t mind,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone clearly indicating that he’ll do it even if Flint would mind.

But he won’t.

He felt himself nod, avoiding his gaze. Silver stood still a few seconds and then walked away, softly closing the doors behind.

Flint was alone, with his mind and his misery once again. He didn’t want to snap at him, but it was a truly absurd suggestion that Silver may care about him. They barely knew each over and clearly wasn’t in good terms. One thing united them – the gold and when it will arrive at Nassau their paths would drift apart forever.

There wasn’t a point in denying the truth. They were strangers, temporarily bound by circumstances.

Even despite knowing this, he still didn’t understand why he felt so bad.

+++++++++++++

Hornigold, it clearly seemed, was beside himself with rage and cursed Eleanor almost in every damn sentence. Truth be told, Flint was close to agreeing with him.

Charles Vane in the fort. Charles fucking Vane now standing between them and the gold. Perfect beginning of the day, surely.

“I’ll go see Miss Guthrie,” he said to Silver, steeping away from the corner full of anger and Hornigold as the case of it. “You stay here. If he asks something you can say what you want but don’t spill everything. He’s not our most trusted ally.”

“I understand,” Silver shrugged casually. He seemed totally unbothered by Hornigold’s behavior, but the slight frown on his face told that he was rather bothered by the news about current situation they was in.

And Flint suddenly thought about the previous night and his words. It was strange and tedious but he felt himself… not guilty, no, but somewhere close to that feeling. The urge to say something about yesterday was strong and demanding. But before he could say something (and surely embarrass himself, fucking obvious) Hornigold grumbled again.

“Where’s Gates?” he asked and Flint felt cold. Silver quickly looked at him but said nothing. There was something in his blue eyes, something Flint almost described as…

“I’ll leave it to you,” he said instead, addressing Silver, shaking himself from unnecessary thoughts and then left. 

It won’t do him any good to dwell on things like that. Besides, there was a more important problem at hand.

…But Eleanor, as it became clear, didn’t consider it a problem at all, which enraged Flint instantly. He tried to talk some sense in her, without much shouting and cursing (he tried really hard), but achieved nothing. Either she wouldn’t understand him or didn’t wish for it all. The problem remained and grew even worse.

Silver, again, didn’t take well news about the food and Flint’s order to discard it completely. After all, he worked really hard, it seemed, to provide it in the first place, with whatever amount of money they had. However Flint didn’t care – they had a chaos at hand and no food could compensate it.

That night, after he addressed the crew, he caught Silver’s eyes for a moment. Neither said a word. Flint held his gaze a moment longer but didn’t take a first step. Silver was the one to avert his eyes and Flint strode right to his cabin. It was dark and empty, as always. But now he distinctively wanted not to be alone.

+++++++++++++

Eleanor left, banging door behind her with such force, it made Flint frown. But he didn’t regret a single word he threw in her face. She was a wise woman, she should’ve understand before coming here in the first place what the fuck she was doing and, most of all, expecting.

Hornigold didn’t return and Flint sighed, trying to suppress his irritation which sparked anew after Miss Guthrie started talking.

Nevertheless the door creaked. Flint quirked his brow at Silver but the latter said nothing. Just stood there, waiting… for what? Neither of them spoke for a long minute, then Flint tapped his fingers on a table and pointed at the “letter”.

Silver approached, took the letter and quickly read it. Then he quirked a brow too.

“What do you think?” Flint asked.

“Well,” Silver chuckled, “I doubt that it's Vane’s words.”

Flint said exactly the same when he was left alone with Eleanor. Still, he was a little impressed and a little bit curious by Silver’s reaction. And the point was…

“How do you know?” he inquired. “You’ve never met him or talked to him in person.”

Silver shrugged, shifting – he didn’t take a seat, Flint noted. Was he waiting for permission? Or was this something else? Still he was not in the mood for these kinds of games so he jerked his head towards the chair. Silver regarded him for a single moment, then took a seat.

“From what I heard, I’d like it to be this way,” he smiled and leaned a little to the side, relaxing his shoulders. “But my opinion of him based on a trusted source.”

“And is it?” Flint lifted a brow.

“You,” Silver told him right in the face and Flint blinked it surprise. It was… unexpected.

“What does this mean?” he managed to grunt.

“I’ve heard you talking about him, which you do a lot more since the fort was taken, and I sized everything up based on it.”

Silver told it so plainly, so bluntly, as though it was nothing. As though he didn’t just wreck a storm in Flint’s insides. As though he didn’t just take his stomach and something else in his palm and squeezed it. Hard.

No one said those words to him. Ever. No one trusted him that much to take his words about someone for an undeniable truth.

The world was so bright; Flint thought he could go blind from all this color. Simple words, yet he reacted so hard he barely had a coherent thought in his head now.

“Why?” he whispered all of sudden.

Silver just stared, his face morphed into some kind of mask of confusion and puzzlement. But then it was gone, replaced by some kind of perplexity and uneasiness. As though Silver had this storm inside him too.

“I don’t understand you,” Flint shook his head, squeezing a fist. Something rustled with the motion and he frowned at Vane’s letter, which now was in a tight grip of his fingers.

“You don’t have to,” Silver shook his head too, and then looked at him. And Flint suddenly asked, as though some inner voice spoke for him.

“Do you want me to?”

Silver started and there was a genuine surprise in his gaze. His mouth almost fell open from it; he looked at Flint like he didn’t expect those words from him at all. Hell, maybe he really didn’t. In a few minutes they managed to shake each other to the core, without making any physical contact.

Flint thought what this contact would be like. What would Silver do if he’ll stand right now, approach him and… 

It was strangely tempting and Flint almost gave up to the urge, but the there were a heavy steps and it broke the moment between them. Mr. Scott and Hornigold returned both, with Mr. Dufresne and Flint found himself in the chaos and mess again. He didn’t catch the moment Silver left and sure as hell didn’t hear his answer.

Which was everything he could think of for the next hours.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying really hard to use English in a proper way, though it seemed I'm still not good at it. Sorry for any mistakes, I really try my best to get rid of them from chapter to chapter. It's not proofreaded, unfortunately, too.

With new “additions” to the fort and Vane’s men to be precise, the whole thing started to worsen ten times more than a few hours ago. Hornigold bragged something about it, but Flint wasn’t in the mood to listen to him now. They should be doing something and rather quickly, which he said out loud, finally getting rid of all the “guests” in his quarters.

Silver remained by the window – he occupied this place the moment they reached Nassau and Flint’s cabin transformed into some kind of war council. He sat there quietly, observing and Flint found himself wondering about his thoughts once again.

Strangely so, he almost could’ve guessed them.

But still the fact why the hell people came to Vane was the most important thought in his mind now. He just couldn’t understand them at all. Every damn man on the shore knew how exactly Vane took the fort and what he did to its previous occupants; not to mention everyone fucking knew who exactly Vane was himself and what he was capable of. 

Why then?

He couldn’t grasp it. As much as the sudden urge to ask Silver about it.

“Sorry,” Silver frowned in open disbelief, “are you asking my opinion?”

He clearly didn’t understand this urge too.

Flint gave a Look instead, clenching his teeth and just… waiting. Silver waited too – a few seconds at least, then cocked his head and took the chair right in front of him. 

Though his insight wasn’t very reassuring. Quite the opposite, to be honest.

They feared him, he said. They saw him as a more huge threat than Vane was. They saw him as a villain – some creature of the darkness, causing horror and chaos in its wake.

He shouldn’t be bothered by it – it was their dumb fears and prejudices. It didn’t concern him in any way. But one thing did…

“And you?” he chuckled and looked at Silver. “What do you think? You see me as a villain here?”

And it was strange. It was so, so strange. But this man’s opinion now intrigued him more than all the rumors about himself that may circulate Nassau in this particular moment. They feared him? So be it. They liked him? Well, so be it. They wanted him dead? Fuck them. None of it mattered.

Except…

Silver smiled, this mischievous glint in his eyes back, leaned forward and started talking again.

And Flint’s heart sank.

+++++++++++++

 _My truest love._

 _Know no shame._

When he read those words for the first time Flint – James – felt happiness to the point of exploding and… shame. He apologized to Miranda, took her hands in his and begged – begged to forgive him for that feeling he couldn’t threw away. 

To share Thomas with her, even though she was his one and only Soulmate.

Miranda smiled then and just held him in her delicate but so strong and warm arms. Soothed him, whispered sweet nonsense in his ear, not breaking their embrace the entire time. That’s how Thomas found them, but neither Miranda nor James ever voiced the cause of this to him. 

Now, Flint thought, after all those years, he didn’t regret not telling him this. Maybe it would’ve broken his heart; maybe he would just laugh it off and took his part in their shared embrace… They’d never know now.

All they had now was the faded Spiral on Miranda’s wrist, memories, engraved in both their heads, and the red leather book with the last part of his soul, rested in there…

…Which, right now, rested on the floor, doubling Flint’s rage for the one responsible. Vane, on the other hand, held him responsible for something too, as if his attempts to strangle him on that same floor were proof enough. Flint was more than happy to take his own part in ending Vane’s shitty life and freeing Nassau – and most of all himself – of his presence. 

Although, they were roughly interrupted by Eleanor, Miranda and Richard-fucking-Guthrie, who suddenly appeared again. Flint had a few questions to him too, but as Eleanor and Miranda insisted their meeting should become more civilized, decided to set thing between them later.

And so the new plan was settled. Vane didn’t take it well and fled angrily, Eleanor stormed after him and Flint was left with Miranda and Richard Guthrie alone. And then came the obvious trouble with gold.

A while later, Flint took Miranda to the back doors and stand there with her, trying to find peace with just her presence. It came… rather awkwardly. Some tugging were still inside him, some… longing; the strong pull towards the beach and whatever awaited him there. He exactly what, though. His crew, precisely, and Flint knew they won’t take well the news about their new course of action.

Yet he never felt the pull towards them. Hell, he never felt it towards sea at all.

Miranda was his home. His place was by her side now. So why?..

“Captain!” he heard and suddenly something snapped inside him and the pull subsided a little.

He should think about it later. He definitely should, but right now there were some news he needed to tell his men and the development of the whole thing.

Surprisingly, it seemed Silver had some news too.

“I thought him dead,” Flint remarked all of sudden; when the fact of Billy’s revival settled in. “Did he say anything?”

“About what?” Silver narrowed his eyes and Flint had a vexing feeling that he knew exactly the background of Flint’s question.

So he didn’t say anything, just looked at him. The corner of Silver’s mouth tugged upward, his eyes twinkled. He lifted his hands, as if in mock defeat.

“All right, I get it. No more pranks fro today.”

“I wouldn’t hope for that,” Flint grumbled and Silver actually smiled at him, bright and all teeth.

Flint’s own mouth twitched, he snorted a little and shook his head. Unbelievable, but it made Silver’s smile even wider than it already was.

“So,” Flint pulled himself together. Straight to the point, once again. There wasn’t any time for… whatever this was between them for a second. “Billy.”

And they began their short walk to the beach to these new “developments” waiting.

+++++++++++++

“I’m seeming unconcerned,” Flint said and Silver flashed that bright smile of his once again. Flint found himself avoiding his face for a second, as though it was hard to watch it lit up with exhilaration and liveliness which bounced off of Silver like a sea waves.

He was… Flint didn’t know who exactly he was. But his smile, his open and so ridiculously vivid face were hard things not to notice. He remembered that impulse he felt in his cabin. That strange and stupid thought about…  
No. It was nothing.

And even if it _wasn’t_ he didn’t have time for this. 

He distracted himself with questions about Hornigold’s voices contrary his own, and Silver listened, biting on his own lip and watching him with some strange expression. Then he walked closer and voiced his concerns, which – as Flint knew why Silver was on his side in the first place – were obvious and understandable. But still…

“The gold is a priority,” he said with such confidence he almost believed it himself. “There’s been no change in that”.

But there was.

“You have my word.”

And now this word meant nothing. Because he lied. To the only one person who was on his side in this case. To the one, who saved him once. And then again.

To the one, who believed him now, Flint saw it in his eyes.

Silver smiled and left, carefree and unaffected once again. Flint watched him go and tried not to think – no to dwell on the fact that he somehow made a mistake.

Maybe the dull ache somewhere inside his ribcage was the proof itself.

+++++++++++++

Silver was nowhere to be seen when everything started. Flint stayed at the periphery of the crowd, listening and trying not to catch Hornigold’s accusing stares, which he threw at him every now and then. 

The men listened, but, judging from their expressions, they still didn’t choose a side. It was a bit of relief, well aside from…

Where _the fuck_ was Silver anyway?

He appeared, as if sensing Flint’s rapidly increasing irritation. Walked straight to him. Flint blinked, sensing something was off; Silver’s face betrayed nothing from afar but in close proximity the uneasiness and concern were written openly on it.

Something was wrong.

They stood so close to each other, Flint felt his breath on his own face, saw his eyes – they were almost dark with occasional golden blinks from the lanterns in their depths. They were close. Too close for Flint’s comfort. Somehow his mind went almost blank when Silver entered his personal space and he found himself looking at him almost… expectantly, as if asking “What now?”

But for all things he felt at that moment, Silver clearly didn’t share them. In a few seconds Flint understood why.

The gold was gone, the men erupted into chaos, arguing, shouting at each other, but thankfully not blaming anyone. Yet. After those two explained to him how exactly the gold was stolen from them, Flint stayed silent, despite Dufresne’s summary of the situation. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Silver but couldn’t read his expression.

What were his thoughts about this?

Flint, sending Dufresne away, almost asked it out loud but Silver spoke first. And every word sent a cold shiver down Flint’s spine. He didn’t like it. He hated it. He hated the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, the meaning of his words.

He hated all of it. But not _him_.

“I need your help,” he said, approaching him. Silver shifted away, as if seeing him as a menace.

But it wasn’t like that. He wasn’t a threat to him now.

Flint needed him to see the point, to believe, to stay by his side. Now. Maybe later too. But that thought was a dangerous one, he put it aside for the moment. He would deal with it later, but right now he needed his voice, he needed his help and his ability to manipulate.

So he didn’t give him a chance to say something, to retort, to argue. He knew his words were harsh and brute. He meant for them to be that way. Everything, he’d do anything just to…

Silver stood there awkwardly and clearly was at loss, Flint saw it, this raw emotion in him. He got him, strike a blow that hit the mark exactly.

“You’ll address the men?” Flint asked his back, when Silver turned away from him.

And so he did.

+++++++++++++

When everything ended, Flint let the men off the leash. The gold was gone so there was no need from them to sit in one place and wait for his next command. The loss of their big prize was still fresh, but Flint, honestly, didn’t give a shit. First, he talked to Eleanor, then hurried to Miranda’s house where introduced himself to young lady Ashe.

Later that night, when the exhausted girl was fast asleep, Miranda asked him to stay, but he refused. Promised to return tomorrow after all the preparations and left to his bungalow on the beach.

The town was wide awake, filled with drunken men as always, but the beach was silent. Lanterns flickered, swaying in a light breeze and Flint closed his eyes for a moment. He thought this day would never come to an end.

The bungalow was dark and empty. The creaking wooden stairs, which led to it, although, weren’t.

“What’re you doing here?” Flint watched, incredulous, as Silver turned to him, hearing his steps on crunching sand. “I thought you’d be there.”

He nodded in the direction of distant moving lights. Silver quirked lips a little and shook his head.

“As much as I appreciate their longing for freedom, I’m not in the mood of joining either of them. Wanted to be alone for a while.”

“Yet you’re here,” Flint pointed, indicating that it was _his_ bungalow they were currently at. Well, not _inside_.

Silver was silent for a moment and then asked something Flint clearly hadn’t been waiting for.

“Do you think that way too?”

“What?”

“You said earlier,” Silver watched him now attentively; Flint shifted, a little bothered by his stare. “About the men giving a shit about what I think and what I want them to think. Do you give a shit too?”

Now that was the question Flint wasn’t expecting at all. He stood, almost paralyzed by this intense gaze, and couldn’t come up with any coherent words. Maybe because he didn’t know the answer at all.

The silence between them grew heavy and too long. Flint opened his mouth, then closed it only to open it again. Silver was sitting on the stairs and Flint loomed over him a little, yet he had a very distinct impression that Silver was the one in control now.

He didn’t like it. And the question too.

“You know,” Silver broke the silence first and stood so suddenly Flint almost stepped away. Almost. “You don’t have to answer this.”

He walked ahead, their shoulder almost bumped, but not enough to be the actual body contact.

“I think I am,” Flint managed, looking at his retreating form.

Silver stopped and glanced over his shoulder. His thick curls were obscuring his face and Flint felt the urge to brush them aside. To lift his hand and delve his fingers right there. He was certain they were as soft as a silk.

As if escaping this strong pull, Flint took the steps and sat at the table near the door. Somehow he knew that sleep now wasn’t an option. The wood creaked and Silver joined him, sat across from him and simply stared. His gaze was… calm. And soft. And a bit calculating, as if Flint was a puzzle he wanted to unravel.

The lights flickered, throwing shades of yellow and brown at them, dancing in the depths of Silver’s eyes. Flint noticed that the blueness in them was as colorful as in bright day.

He liked it.

“You have the votes now,” Silver stated matter-of-factly; they both knew it already but he still voiced it and Flint vaguely thought what for.

Yet he shrugged and admitted:

“You did all the work there. It’s literally yours votes.”

“I did it for myself,” Silver shrugged and tossed his curls from his face. They still fell forward, obstructing his vision and he tucked them behind his ears. Flint watched these ministrations a little amazed and even amused.

“I know,” he nodded and the silence fell upon them again.

“What if your plan won’t work?” Silver muttered and narrowed his eyes. “What then?”

“Everything is under control,” Flint didn’t hesitate a second, even though deep down he felt a bit of doubt himself. “It will work.”

“This man, lord Ashe,” Silver frowned, remembering a name, “he’ll know we’re pirates. I don’t think he likes our kinfolk very much.”

Flint bit his tongue from spilling the truth about his familiarity with lord Ashe. It wasn’t relevant for Silver, besides he wasn’t going to share his past with him. Not by any chance.

“We’ll bring him back his daughter, I think that’ll change his opinion, even for a while,” he decided to say instead, not revealing anything. 

“What if it won’t?” Silver stubbornly asked and Flint actually frowned at that.

“What about this skepticism all of sudden?” he grumbled. “If you still bitter about the gold…”

“It’s not about that,” Silver cut him short and tucked another curl behind. He gazed at Flint then. “You’re gonna take her too?”

Flint raised a brow at that. Silver rolled his eyes.

“Mrs. Barlow,” he clarified. “She's going with us?”

“Yes, she is,” Flint didn’t like her decision at all, but he couldn’t deny her it. Not after everything they’ve been through. 

He started to dislike this conversation too. It almost felt like an interrogation and that he didn’t like at all.

“I talk too much now, didn’t I?” Silver chuckled and Flint thought for a moment that he somehow read his mind.

But it was ridiculous.

“It’s fine,” he shrugged, which surprised himself. Silver, apparently, was taken aback too. He blinked and raised his own brow.

“A few days ago your answer would be quite different.”

“I can change it for how it was before, if you’d like,” Flint threatened and Silver chuckled again, that deep rumble that sent a quick shiver down Flint’s side.

“Hell no, I like it that way.”

“I’m surprised that you’d like something about me at all,” Flint remarked rather unperturbedly and with no second thoughts.

Silver almost laughed at it and shook his head a little.

“I thought the same way, you know. Just about myself. Well, apparently I do like something about you, which makes me a winner here. I don’t think you’d ever like anything about me.”

It was spoken so light-heartedly, so carelessly, that Flint should’ve just snorted to that. Or even set it aside and pretend he didn’t hear it. 

But he heard.

“What you said up there,” he admitted. “How you managed to get their voices… I liked that.”

Silver didn’t laugh at that. He made no comment, just looked at him with big blue eyes. He really didn’t expect that, it seemed.

The silence was so long this time Flint decided that the talking was done for today. He shifted and stood, shrugging his shoulders, which became a little tense.

“Well, that’s…” he started but Silver suddenly straightened too.

“I need…” he blurted and then cut himself short. Frowned, bit his lip. “I want to tell you…”

There was a real storm of emotions on his face and Flint frowned at it, not understanding where these came from. Something was off and he couldn’t comprehend what exactly. Silver looked almost… desperate? Flint never has seen him like this.

And deep down he… feared to listen to him. Something told him he didn’t want to hear his next words at all. Was it tiredness after all these chaotic days? Was it something else? He just couldn’t name it.

“I think that’s all for today,” he sighed and turned to the door. “You should rest too.”

Silver stopped trying to find the right words to tell him something else. Flint felt his gaze on his own back but didn’t turn. He knew it would be a mistake to do it. And the other thing he’d do after that would be a mistake too.

He squeezed the door’s handle and stood still. The blood rushed in veins, howled in his ears. The world was loud and bright.

Maybe it was an eternity before he managed to turn. No one was there. He was alone again.

+++++++++++++

On the next day all the preparations began. The crew was in open turmoil, still complaining about the gold, but quietly and with no malice. Flint, on the other hand, came to Miranda’s house earlier in the morning.

“We’ll depart in a few days,” he explained to her, glancing at Abigail, who occupied the rocking chair in the garden and read a book. She still looked pale, but Miranda assured him that she’ll be alright here, with no unwanted guests and in the quiet of this house.

She smiled at him and took his hands in hers.

“Stay,” she whispered like the previous evening and he really wanted nothing more than that.

Yes, he wanted it, didn’t he?

“When this will be over, I’ll stay,” he promised and she smiled again. He kissed her forehead and left to the beach.

The waves rocketed quietly, whispering to him _You’ve lied_ every damn time.

+++++++++++++

Flint watched the preparations for a while, noticing Billy’s eagerness and their new Quartermaster’s attentiveness. Mr. Scott chose not to follow Hornigold and stayed with them to see Flint’s plan become real. Well, he had all rights to witness it.

From the corner of his eyes Flint caught some movement to the left and turned. Silver was there, packing something with unusual concentration. He hadn’t even noticed Flint’s approach, which Flint, to be honest, hadn’t noticed at first too – it was as though his legs worked without his mind.

When the shadow fell upon him Silver lifted his head. He tied part of his hair back, Flint registered and his blue eyes weren’t covered in falling curls now. It made them stand out more, bright and sparkling in the morning light.  
It was… good on him too.

“The rations,” Silver said and Flint blinked at him.

“What?”

“I’m packing the rations,” Silver’s mouth tugged upwards in a half-smirk.

“I didn’t ask anything,” Flint frowned.

“I… just guessed?” Silver shrugged and stood, tossing his hair back, the way of habit it seemed.

Flint looked at him more closely and a deepened frown. Silver seemed… distracted, almost disturbed by something. It was in his eyes and in the lines of his face, but the cause of it was still unknown. Flint doubted he’ll know the truth by simply asking.

“I thought it would be wise to double them,” Silver continued moreover. “Well, as much as the money would allow. We’ll have two ladies now on the ship with us after all.”

Yes, that’s right, ladies.

“I need you to address the men about this too,” Flint nodded, remembering this important matter. “You do realize that…”

“I’ve done it,” Silver cut in and Flint blinked at him again. Silver actually smiled at him. “I’ve already done it. I thought you’d ask me about it and decided to take care of it beforehand.”

“That’s…” Flint coughed; his gut felt… warm all of sudden. “Okay. Good.”

He turned to head back, then stopped.

“Did you…” shook his head, but no right words came.

 _Did you read my mind again?_

But it was stupid and of-fucking-course Silver – and thankfully no one else – wasn’t capable of these kinds of things. And it surely was better that way.

“Keep going then,” he managed at last and retreated without further ado. Despite something inside him demanded to stay.

+++++++++++++

The sailing was… rather smooth at first. The crew acted strangely decent, no second glances towards their “passengers”, no shouting or swearing when the ladies were on the deck too. Quiet whispers while eating, muffled laugher and nothing more. Flint even thought for a while he somehow mixed up the ships and ended _not_ on a pirate vessel surely.

It was all Silver’s doing, that he understood quite well. And, of course, the men started acting like their old selves the instant Miranda and Abigail left for Flint’s cabin. They would laugh, spill their drinks, make some fights, then laugh it off again.

And, of course, the “goings-on” were still present. The crew even waited for them with sheer delight, which puzzled Flint a little, but he didn’t voice it. Silver was more than happy to proceed with his “entertainment” for the crew, which lifted their still sour mood with ease.

Flint listened too on occasion and just shook his head at an open dumbness of this whole thing. His mouth quirked a few times, but nothing more.

On the third day, when their destination was as close as possible and they prepared to drop anchor in the morning already Flint couldn’t sleep. Miranda and Abigail slept peacefully in his cabin, but he… felt restless. Maybe the cause was the oncoming meeting with the man he doubted would recognize him not to mention speak with him at all. 

Or maybe it was something else. Something that tugged at his insides, forced him on an almost quiet quarterdeck and calmed the moment he saw Silver there too. 

He stood right on the same place he and Flint occupied some time ago (it felt like months, honestly), when the crew decided their fate after they took the Spanish Warship. Flint hesitated a few seconds but then joined him. Silver hadn’t flinched, just threw him a sideways glance and then looked at the dark waves below again.

“I…” Flint said after a long silence.

“Me too,” Silver muttered and Flint nodded.

The mind-reading thing again. So be it.

“We’ll be there tomorrow,” Flint nodded towards the still hidden shore far away from them.

“And what will happen then?” Silver whispered barely audible.

Flint cocked and eyebrow, did he forget already what he himself told the men not so long ago?

“If it works, and I know it will,” he leaned to the side a little. “the Nassau…”

“I didn’t ask about it,” Silver cut him and Flint sighed almost irritatingly, but then Silver straightened and fully turned to him. His eyes were… hard. “I wasn’t asking about Nassau.”

Flint just simply watched him for a few moments, mulling the answer he wanted to give.

“They,” he came with a proper response at last and jerked his chin downwards, meaning the crew, “will decide for themselves. No one would make them do something against their will. I don’t know what’s inside their heads and I honestly don’t care.”

Silver nodded, as if agreeing with last statement, but still asked his next question.

“And what about you?”

Flint sighed and looked at the waves himself. It was a long silence before he started talking again.

“A while ago I told something to Miss Guthrie. That once Urca will be ours I’ll want nothing more than walk away from the sea. It’s not ours and it never will be now, but I think the urge is still here.”

“So you’ll,” Silver paused, as if checking his next words, “walk away now?”

“Maybe I will,” Flint agreed.

“You’ll be with her then?” he turned and looked right into the sky blue of Silver’s eyes. The color was so vivid, despite the night surrounding them. “With Mrs. Barlow?”

Flint didn’t answer that. It was too personal, too raw and… something else; maybe he simply didn’t want Silver to know. Even if he knew already.

“You too?” he asked instead. “I heard you then. About your own desire to walk away from them and never look back.”

And he did listen then. He absorbed every word, engraved them inside his mind, just to simply know something about this man. Why, was the next question.

“You’ll walk away?” he pressed a little.

Silver looked at the waves too.

“I wanted to,” he replied.

“Do you want it now?” Flint whispered and Silver looked at him again.

The world… felt strange. And it was bright as a day.

The waves was suddenly too strong, the ship shook with their force, echoing in Flint’s head with a loud _thump thump thump_. It was mere seconds before he knew that this was his heart.

“I don’t know,” Silver mumbled quietly and gripped the rail till his fingers turned white.

It was not the answer Flint expected. It was the same answer he would now give too. It made him restless with no meaning behind it. It made him feel something he hasn’t felt for far too long.

So long that he couldn’t name it now.


	6. Chapter 6

Rage.

It rose inside him, filling every physical part of his being, every corner, every inner place he couldn’t even name. It grew, heavy and hot and huge and all consuming, spilling from every tiny pore on his face, his hands – his whole body. It bubbled, oozing like a pus from a wound, ugly, awful, poisonous…

He was rage and fire and anger. He was no man; he was only these things, that consumed him, drowned him in a hollow void with no light, no sounds… _nothing_.

It was born the moment Miranda’s lifeless body hit the fancy carpet beneath their feet and he saw a trickle of blood, streaming from the single hole on her forehead.

He couldn’t form any thought then anymore.

The rage was there when they chained him and put a collar on him. When their children gathered around in a small frightened circle and stared with almost unblinking eyes at him, it was there. When the voices hushed and all those noble men accused him, spoke about him and everything he did (they didn’t know even _a half_ of his doings), it was there.

When Charles Vane sat beside him, impassive and so out of place, it was there still. But by the time Vane stood and lifted his hands in the air, he knew already that from now on this feeling will be the only one inside him.

Everything else was gone. Captain Flint was gone. Instead there was a monster they feared and summoned to bring its wrath on them.

This rage drove him forward, gave him strength, helped him stay on his feet and fight his way out. He wrecked chaos around himself, brought it upon this place that would burn like _she_ wished. The rage was his only companion now and he wouldn’t mind it to be forever like thi-

And only then he was proved wrong when the crushing unbearable pain exploded inside him, throwing him to the ground with such force he almost blacked out. He lay there, breathing shallowly, barely conscious, barely alive. So that was it. His heart gave out, he was dimly aware of it. Finally it couldn’t handle this life anymore.

But it kept beating, hard and demanding and strong. He was alive, he wasn’t injured, that he somehow knew, but this pain… it made the rage inside him shrank, it made every fiber of his being scream in agony, in chorus with the voices of those around him, echoing in his ears.

Vane shouted something, grabbed him, dragging upwards and shoved forward. Keep moving, that was it. They needed to get away; they needed to survive for what awaited them in the future. The rage returned, Flint clenched his teeth and ran, forcing himself to move, to dull the never ending agony, roaring inside him.

It was Miranda’s death, he convinced himself, while moving on a sole impulse, fighting his way out, running for his life, reaching for a goal straight ahead.

 _It awaited him. Awaited him right there._

He shouldn’t have brought her here. He should’ve left her in Nassau, in a safe calmness of her house, to wait for him, to open her arms for him, to smile at him, to be there for him. Now she was gone and so was his heart.

Which ached so severely it was a miracle it didn’t break already. Yes. It was because of her. It was because he lost her. He was truly alone now, no one was left.

No one.

Someone screamed suddenly and it shook Flint to the core. He stumbled, almost fell but Vane cursed and hauled him up again. They almost made it to the docks and now was not the time to stop and see who was the source of that anguish and pain Flint heard.

They grabbed the paddles frantically and solely focused on staying alive, but somewhere deep inside Flint thought his mind played tricks with him. Because in close proximity there were no one except them.

+++++++++++++

The cannons fired and ship literally shook with every shot. The smoke clouded everything, but Flint hasn’t moved from his spot, stock still and clenching his jaw so hard it hurt.

Everything hurt, though. His body, his mind, every damn digit on his hands and legs. Everything. He embraced it, like he deserved, he welcomed it and tried not to think, not to remember, not to spill it out loud for everyone to hear.

The town fell too quickly, the ships sank, the smoke clouded the sky in ugly gray and only then Flint moved. His eyes locked with Vane’s and his sudden savior looked at him and nodded again. There was no need to ask, if Vane liked or not everything that happened mere seconds ago.

“Make ready the launches and prepare the men to get into the town,” Flint ordered sideways, not looking at anyone in particular. Someone quickly stepped forward and helped with the chains still attached to him. Vane was freed too, rather awkwardly though, but Flint didn’t care.

“Captain?” Scott approached.

“Tell men to take everything they find valuable,” Flint turned to him. “Prepare the shore party as quick as possible.”

Not sparing Scott another glance or word he strode right to his cabin. Billy quickly followed, but Flint hadn’t paid him any attention. His mind wasn’t here right now anymore.

The pain pierced his skull and he flinched, faltering in his steps. Only then he noticed blood. His quarters were a literal mess. There was blood and dead fucking bodies everywhere.

“Captain!” Billy managed to catch up with him and Flint watched him cringe at the look he saw on his face.

“What the fuck happened here?” he asked in a barely hushed tone. Lack of emotions in his own voice wasn’t a surprise to him. Nothing could shake him now.

“We had a situation,” Billy acknowledged rather grimly and looked at the mess. Flint caught a glimpse of movement and saw a few men from his crew dragging the corpses away.

“I don’t care,” Flint waved any explanation aside. “Just deal with it.”

“I think you will,” Billy intervened and lowered his eyes for a moment.

“It isn’t the first time we lost our men,” Flint sighed; he felt exhaustion kicking in suddenly. A crushing weight pressed on him and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes now and just _forget_.

He’ll mourn later. He would never be able to stop.

Billy clenched his jaw, “We could’ve lost everyone today. If not for…” he cut himself short and quickly glanced sideways, as if expecting someone to appear.

Something clenched inside Flint, twisting his gut so hard he almost doubled over. A part of him refused to name this feeling but he knew already what it was.

Dread.

“I think you need to see it,” Billy settled at last and they went below deck.

There was a small crowd there and for a brief moment Flint remembered the “goings-on” and how men stomped their feet, mimicking the one in the center, who had all their attention. Now they noticed him and started to move aside, like a waves before the ship.

Flint saw a corner of a table and blood – a literal puddle of blood on the floor right below his feet. He watched it for a moment, stunned and confused. Then he moved closer and lifted his head.

It wasn’t a “goings-on”. And it seemed they weren’t an option in the future anymore. The men would still like them and listen and laugh and stomp their feet with such force the ship will fucking rock with it.

Except now there won’t be any stomping anymore. Precisely not from a man, lying on this damned table in a fucking bigger puddle of blood than the one on the floor. The man with an open wound right where his left leg used to be. Everything below the knee was gone. Except it didn’t if the bloody piece of flesh Howell was currently laying aside on the floor was any indication.

And then it crashed on him full force.

Silver was here. Any they took off his leg.

Flint didn’t say anything, but Billy must’ve sensed it in the air and started talking.

“Captain’s Vane men did it. I don’t know all the details but it seemed they wanted to take the ship and escape, leaving their own captain here to die. They took Silver to your cabin; he managed to steal the keys from our shackles and we barged into your quarters as soon as possible…”

He paused and looked at Silver grimly.

“But not soon enough.”

“Take them off,” Flint hissed suddenly and everyone looked at him.

Howell, clearly noticing him only now, opened his mouth and quickly closed it. The men moved aside again, widening the circle around him.

Flint was beside Silver in a flash of a movement. He gripped the chains on him, as though trying to rip them apart with his bare hands.

His mind was empty. His stomach churned. He wanted to throw up.

He wanted to kill everyone. To claw their eyes, to rip their throats, to tear them apart as much as the sight of this man was tearing him now.

Not this. Everything but not this.

The shackles fell with a loud “bang” but Silver didn’t even twitch. Flint saw his lashes tremble but he remained unconscious. There was no relief in this. Flint knew he was awake when everything happened. He was awake from the start of this nightmare.

“Clean the mess in my quarters,” Flint gritted between clenched teeth and squeezed the side of a table so hard his knuckles hurt. “And bring him there.”

No one said a word and Billy hastily took the rest of the men with him. Flint stayed frozen to the spot, not able to move an inch and just watched Howell wrapping a bloody stump in a clean bandage. It was red in mere seconds.

“He’s gonna make it, right?” someone whispered and Flint dimly noticed a bald short man beside Silver. He was squeezing his shoulder with both hands. His name was… Muldoon? Flint hadn’t actually remembered at the moment. It made no sense to him.

“Let’s hope so,” Howell muttered, fixing the cloth. His hands were covered in blood, his clothes too, as well as Muldoon’s and two others. One of them was Dooley, the other… Flint didn’t give a shit.

Silver was as pale as the cloth on his stump. Covered in sweat, hair a mess, eyes swollen with dark circles under. He _shivered_. He was in pain even in his sleep.

Flint watched and couldn’t tear his eyes away. He couldn’t even think. He did something before, but what? He went somewhere and something happened. Someone left. But it was so far away now, so dull and distant.  
Nothing mattered anymore except the fact that he may never see-

“Captain,” Howell approached him cautiously, as if cornering a feral animal. Flint turned sharply and doctor flinched. “I need to examine you.”

“I’m fine,” he squeezed this word out of his mouth with such force it hurt.

“Still-”

“I’m fine,” Flint pressed harder and there must’ve been something in his voice, because Howell froze immediately. Others too. 

Silver suddenly shifted and moaned, his face scrunching with raw pain. Flint almost felt it too. It was as hard as the one he felt in Charlestown. He placed a tentative hand on Silver’s shoulder in a fake attempt to somehow calm him, but he shifted again and whined through clenched teeth. His back arched, he gripped the table with both hands and started to shake.

Flint’s hand accidentally brushed his neck and he nearly flinched. Silver was burning hot with fever, shaking all over, sweat running down his forehead and neck.

“The laudanum, now,” Flint barked but Howell just swallowed and hastily rummaged through his things.

“We don’t have one,” he said and the pain in his own voice was almost physically palpable.

Flint looked at him sharply, squeezing Silver’s shoulder a little too roughly than needed, earning a whimper. He quickly took his hand away. Muldoon and Dooley both grabbed Silver way too gently and tried to hold him still. It barely worked; he was close to trashing already.

“You used all of it?” he rumbled and Howell looked at him then. Flint felt cold washing over him. “You didn’t have it at all.”

“We couldn’t…” Howell muttered, quickly looking for something to ease the pain eventually, but nothing was there, Flint saw it clearly. Besides only laudanum would’ve helped here. “It was only rum.”

Rum. They gave him just rum before the amputation. A heavy drink, which amount would have to be a fucking barrel to numb a grown man.

Silver felt it all.

Flint felt sick.

Howell wetted the cloth and started to wipe Silver’s skin, cleaning away blood and sweat. Silver whimpered at the contact, tried to turn away, to curl in on himself, then moaned again, clearly from pain of moving. Muldoon and Dooley gripped him tighter, fearing he’d hurt himself. 

Flint stood and watched. His hand twitched and he curled his fingers in a tight fist.

It was his fault. Everything was only his fault.

Eternity passed before Billy appeared again and they gently carried Silver to Captain’s cabin. Flint followed them on unsteady legs, feeling dizzy. He never took his eyes from Silver the entire walk. Blissfully, it was a short trip.

Vane waited there, sitting on the corner of the table and fumbling with his knife. Flint caught a glimpse of glare Billy threw towards the other captain; Vane just smirked, but Flint paid them no attention, looking closely as men placed Silver on the cot by the window. They clearly prepared it for him beforehand, turning it into a rather small but as comfortable as possible bed. Then they left but Billy and Vane stayed.

The latter glanced over at Silver’s trembling form and narrowed his eyes.

“Caught him myself below deck,” he rumbled in that deep rasp of his. “He seemed pretty brave then. And stupid too.”

“Is there some point in it?” Billy roughly interrupted. Flint hasn’t been watching but from the tone of his voice he definitely was glaring daggers at Vane.

Flint honestly didn’t give a shit to both of them. He never tore his eyes away from Silver. Something deep inside whispered he shouldn’t do it ever again. Otherwise something bad will happen. Bullshit. What more could’ve happened that didn’t already?

“This,” Billy’s angry voice shook him from his thought again, “was yours men doing. Your Quartermaster-”

“Would’ve been gutted by me specifically, if I fucking knew where he is now,” Vane hissed at him in return.

“I’ve already dealt with him,” Billy snarled and Flint turned just in time to see as Vane smirked again.

“Well done then. Won’t stand disobedience as well as traitors.”

Billy just opened his mouth again but then the door burst open and DeGroot along with Scott entered hastily.

“The shore party is ready,” the latter confirmed and glanced sideways at Vane. “Your men are secured below deck.”

Flint jerked his chin at Billy.

“Go.”

The bosun stared at him for a moment and then left with DeGroot.

“As soon as we finish here, we’ll head to Tortuga,” Flint told Scott, throwing him a sideways glance. “Is that clear?”

The Quartermaster just nodded and left as quickly as possible. Flint turned to Silver again and felt his heart clench. His eyebrows were drawn tightly together, mouth in a thin line and he was shaking badly again. He was suffering and Flint suffered with him too.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Vane asked suddenly and Flint jerked, turning to him. He completely forgot someone else was here.

“What?”

“The one who stole the schedule from you,” Vane cocked his head, jumped from the table and strode forward, looking at Silver more closely. Flint felt a rather displeasing and awkward urge to get Vane the hell out of here, just to make him turn away and not lay his damned eyes on-

“The thief,” Vane clarified again, even though both of them new damn well the topic he was breaching. “Supposed to give the schedule to me, but decided to team up with you. Lost a hell ton of a pearls because of that shit. The moment he opened his mouth when I found him here, I knew it was him.”

He looked Flint over, almost from head to toe and as annoying as it was Flint stifled the urge to sock him right in the jaw. He was in a damned dept to this man now and it would’ve irritated him like crazy, if he had the strength. But he hadn’t.

“I see why you are looking at him like that,” Vane shrugged and started walking towards the doors. “Even though I don’t fucking understand it. You already know where the Urca is, why still bother with him then?”

And with that he was gone. Right on time, because Flint felt some strange need to throw a total nonsense in his back. 

About the Urca’s gold and the fact that somehow deep inside he knew it didn’t matter to him anymore. And the reason was something he wouldn’t ever admit to anyone. Not even to himself.

So he left, ordering Howell to stay beside Silver the whole time, and went to the burning town along with his men. They unleashed their swords, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary anymore, for those who could really fight them where torn apart by the cannonballs or buried alive by crushed buildings. They went through the streets, spilling blood, showing no mercy, taking what they claimed theirs and following him, like a leader he truly was.

He killed, he took, he watched and his heart was dead silent inside.

And if every time this dead weight clenched after hearing another scream, throwing his mind back to the ship, in his cabin, where the man whose screams he hasn’t heard but _knew_ them already lay, that was nothing.

In the end they burned the city and returned to the ship. Flint watched the town turning into one giant bonfire and vaguely thought that it was nothing compared to the one burning inside him.

+++++++++++++

 _The pain was… severe. Like absolutely nothing he felt before. It burned in veins, it licked at skin, it twisted bones and chewed them, trashing, munching, shattering them to an ash._

 _It was nothing._

 _There were hands on him, hard surface under him… Someone talked, someone whispered and all of it merged, faded to an excruciating ringing noise._

 _None of it mattered._

 _Only pain. The one somewhere deep inside, in the dark and hollow cave on the left. The one he felt._

 _The voices talked, they wanted him to behave, to stay still, to stay calm, but none of it mattered. He couldn’t. No. How could he? When this pain was so…_

 _They wanted to help him. But no, they shouldn’t do it. No numbness, no medicine, nothing._

 _“No, no…” he tried to say, but this awful noise inside his head just wouldn’t let him. He felt as though the world crashed on him. “Not me...”_

 _He tried to beg, to plead – everything possible just for them to understand!_

 _Help_ him! _Please_ , he’s _in pain. Please, help_ him!

 _They shouted something, the ringing tore his mind apart but that didn’t matter, because_ he _suffered so hard and no one heard it. No one but him and they won’t just damn listen!_

 _“…talking about…”_

 _“…delirious with…”_

 _“…hold him…”_

 _“…”_

 _He saw the darkness, it swirled in ocean waves above him, smiled at him, that deep familiar smirk he knew so well now. It reached for him and he wanted to cry, to weep, to scream…_

 _The world exploded with his mind. He screamed but the darkness never left. It opened it’s embrace and swallowed him whole, gushing down his throat, clawing at his eyes, spearing through his heart with thousands needles._

 _He choked on his voice. It wasn’t his anymore._

 _He tasted blood. It wasn’t his anymore._

 _He felt_ his _pain_. He _wasn’t hi-_

+++++++++++++

Flint opened his eyes with a start, frantically gulping for air. His mind was a screaming mess of red and black flashing in bits and pieces before his eyes.

He saw a dream, but more like lived through it. He shook all over, sweat flowed down his body and when he touched his face to wipe it away there were salt on his palm.

He closed his eyes, not bothering to wipe his tears.

The dream was anguish itself. Even if he couldn’t remember it now.

+++++++++++++

Silver bit his knuckles again, thick curls hiding his face, but Flint noticed and clenched his own teeth in irritation. Was it so hard just fucking ask for Howell and laudanum? He didn’t get it at all, but stayed silent.

Silver woke up two days ago, when they left Tortuga already. Flint told him the news and received one particular in return. It shook him so hard he couldn’t even imagine it would. He spent the whole day on the deck, barking orders and receiving alarming and frightened glances from his own crew.

Silver couldn’t even sit for too long and almost had a fever again after so much as trying. Howell scolded him, but Flint saw the stubborn clench of Silver’s jaw, the hard look in his eyes which never was there before.

The man who opened his eyes on that cot beside window was almost a stranger to Flint.

He remained in Captain’s quarters, specifically under Flint’s direct order. Silver indented to move below deck where the others were, but Flint strictly prohibited that. Silver didn’t have any strength to argue, that was clear as a day, so the topic was settled once and for all.

The point is, he suffered. Deeply and heavily. He was mostly silent during the day and deliberately quiet at night. Flint haven’t noticed at first but then it became apparent to him that Silver forced himself not to show any kind of pain neither in front of him nor the crew.

He bit the inside of his cheek, when someone was present. His lips and knuckles bore angry red marks, when he sunk teeth in them at night, turning his back to Flint and tucking himself in a corner as deep as possible. 

Flint heard no moan, no whine, nothing ever since Silver woke up. Just a heavy breathing, when sleep eventually would overtake him or a barely audible scrape of teeth when the pain forced Silver to stay awake and he would clench them so hard his jaw hurt (Flint could’ve guessed it did).

They still haven’t reached Nassau, though headed there. Vane and his men parted with them at Tortuga; his unwanted “savior” decided to find a ship for himself. Both crews breathed easily after that.

Flint, on the other hand, delayed their arrival at Nassau as long as possible. He needed time to think and to weigh the pros and cons. Although there wasn’t really other option except to head straight to Jack Rackham and start a fucking war with him, if needed. He won’t tolerate the gold’s new “owner” that he was certain of.

The day before they reached Nassau, Silver asked about Randall. There were Billy and Muldoon with him at the Captain’s quarters. Flint sat at his table, not sparing them another glance, rummaging though his log and trying to distract himself with something meaningful.

It hadn’t worked, because he still heard every word exchanged, even though they tried to talk in hushed tones.

Silver barely talked now and every time it was so quiet and soft Flint had a hard time to understand him. 

It irritated him. 

It gnawed at him.

“He’s… uh…” Muldoon spoke first after the question and judging by the tone of his voice it a little… alarmed him.

“Do you not…” Billy sounded much like Muldoon too.

“I know he’s dead,” Silver calmed them with that soft voice of his. “I want his peg leg. You didn’t throw it at the sea with him, right?”

Flint heard a sharp noise – a scrunch of paper and looked at his own hand. The map’s corner was a mess between his fingers. He slowly unclenched them and hasn’t turned a slightest bit but still felt the stares on his back.

“Yeah,” Billy coughed after an uncomfortable silence. “But Howell…”

“I’ll deal with him,” Silver told him firmly. “Please, get the leg.”

An unspoken _You’re dismissed_ floated in air like a hanging rock on a thin thread. Flint almost saw it in a physical shape. He didn’t like it.

But the crew voted a few days ago and now Silver was their Quartermaster. They chose him to give them orders as much as Flint did. They knew he would be above them now, falling into line only with Captain and no one else. And so they did it anyway, stomping their feet when the vote was placed and cheering delightfully.

Silver took it well. But with no happiness or delight.

He was bound to that now. To these men. And Flint saw the crushing realization in his eyes – the understanding that now they do want him here. And he wants to be with them too. He gave his leg for their safety, endured the pain so severe Flint doubted anyone would stand.

It broke him in the most horrendous way. Flint, shuttered himself by the loss of Miranda, smiled at him when Silver woke up. He sat next to his bed and talked, trying to display some source of comfort even though he hadn’t felt it himself.

Silver lifted his eyes at him then and said nothing.

They were as blue as the morning sky above their ship. Thick curls framed his pale face, slowly stirring in the soft sea breeze. 

Flint wanted to touch them. To delve a finger inside and circle one curl. To feel how truly soft they was.

Then Silver told him about the gold and everything shattered. Every other thought faded, every feeling in him vanished, leaving only wrath and fury.

It was only these feelings since then. They drove him forward, set his new goal, erased everything else from his being. Every time he closed his eyes now he saw only blood and death which he brought upon his enemies now.

…Silver sighed in his sleep and Flint looked at him. His knuckles bled, his other hand fisted in a rug he was currently shivering under. Then he fell silent again, forcing himself even in his sleep.

Flint lay down on his own bed and willed himself to sleep. It never came. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw blood, oozing from the crystal blue of Silver’s eyes. He saw it flowing from his mouth, opened in a silent scream. He saw him drowning in blood, falling to pieces right in front his eyes.

And then blood turned to sea and Silver vanished.

It was the first night Flint saw Miranda again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this work I knew it won't include just Flint's POV. Basically, his POV is the main one, but from now on there will be these kinds of "pieces" from other persons. It's Muldoon's turn right now. Be aware of angst!

The ship was quiet and frozen. No lights, no movements, nothing. Even the wind was silent, as if sensing this eerie atmosphere. By some strange desire it could’ve been called… peace. And calm.

Everything that wasn’t present at the distant shore, illuminated in red and yellow lights, flickering through the night. As if though they were ignited due to some feast or something like that.

But the ship knew. A few men on it knew too. It was a feast indeed. A pirate feast.

Saint Kitts burned that night.

Muldoon wasn’t there – and all those previous times earlier too. They always left him on the ship and he doubted it would change in near future. The shore party had no place for him and maybe other time in other place he would’ve complained, punched some faces even – he would’ve did everything just to prove his value on this crew.

Not now though. Every time the shore party went to their new target he felt happy he stayed. Every time he was allowed to wait for them… beside one man who always did it too.

Mister Silver never joined the raids – he just physically couldn’t and it was damn obvious to all of them. Cruel irony was that Quartermaster _should_ be the one leading these raids and guide his men through this whole mess. Mister Silver wasn’t capable of this kind of thing and the crew knew it well. They never complained, they never watched him differently because of that. Their opinion of him wasn’t faltered by this knowledge.

But this couldn’t be said about his own.

Every damn time it was almost like a punch in the gut for him and even though he never showed it, never allowed it to be seen on his face, Muldoon guessed it was like that. Because he was the one who stayed beside him when the raid departed. He caught some glimpses, some minor pieces in crystal blue eyes and just _fucking guessed_.

“They’d better return with a hella lot of booty,” he’d say every time, as carefree as possible and then wait.

Because Mister Silver would look at him only after the boats would disappear completely in the darkness ahead. Then and only then he would turn and offer him a smile – a pale shadow of his previous ones.

“I’m sure they will,” he’d say and then turn to the rest of the men, giving orders to douse all the lights on the ship and stay quiet for the sake of hiding their location.

Muldoon would follow him without fear of becoming an annoying nuisance. Mister Silver not once was annoyed with him or, to be honest, others. He was calm and composed and strong and beautiful and sad and…

…everything he wasn’t before. Except his looks, maybe. He was beautiful since the moment Muldoon saw him for the first time. It annoyed him… a few days. Then unnerved. Then he understood.

Now he was afraid, maybe. A little bit.

A large flame flickered in the distance and Muldoon snapped from his thoughts and blinked a few times. He stood by the rails and watched the town burn too long, it seemed. And no one was around – well, not in close proximity.

He looked around, but there were only few men and no trace of their Quartermaster.

“What’s up?” someone shoved his shoulder and he saw Dooley smirking at him. He had some shitty arm injury the last time and Doc Howell demanded him to stay aboard this time. He wasn’t happy about it and there was a loud complaining but the Quartermaster solved it well, as always.

“Where’s Mister Silver?” he blurted right in his face and Dooley blinked at him for a moment. Then he shrugged.

“Saw him going below deck, thought he’d let himself rest at last,” he surmised, frowning in the process.

They both knew that “rest” wasn’t their Quartermaster’s favorite word.

“Thanks,” Muldoon uttered and stalked forward but Dooley, it seemed, wasn’t finished.

“You’d better get it done already,” he voiced and Muldoon turned to him again.

“What?”

Dooley rolled his eyes.

“Just talk to him, damn it,” he nagged, crossing his hands.

“The fuck are you-”

“Mate, don’t fuck with me, ‘kay?” Dooley stepped closer and pointed a finger to him. “It’s fucking obvious you’re in deep and no way in hell I’ll say it out loud.”

Muldoon felt his mouth open slightly but no words came out. If it was that obvious for everyone… then Mister Silver… He…

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Dooley sighed, throwing his hands in the air. “Tell him already-”

“I won’t,” Muldoon protested and there was a hell lot more of exasperation in Dooley’s next sigh.

“Why the fuck not?”

“You know exactly why,” Muldoon hissed and Dooley frowned at that. But didn’t protest.

He knew too.

They just stood there awkwardly for a few moments, not knowing what to add. Dooley spoke first and this time there was nothing in his voice except slight worry.

“You’d never know, unless you try, mate,” he shrugged carefully and crossed his arms again, grimacing a little from the pain in his wound.

Muldoon shook his head silently.

“Thanks,” he mumbled at last and went below deck. Dooley added nothing, just stood there and Muldoon felt his gaze on his back.

The Quartermaster was indeed below deck, but not in the hammock as the crew silently hoped. He had one for himself, of course, larger than the rest – he never complained, just thanked the men but he never liked it too. It, along with a lot of other things, reminded him of his mutilation every fucking day.

Muldoon stepped on the galley and watched Mister Silver peeling the corn. There were a hell lot of them beside him already.

“You don’t have to do this,” Muldoon blurted without thinking, hurrying closer and almost reaching for the corn. He never grabbed it, though. 

The Quartermaster just blinked at him.

“You’re not sleeping?” he asked instead and Muldoon had a strong urge to stomp his feet like some stupid brat and declare that of-fucking-course he’s not sleeping, why should he, anyway?

“You’re not in the watch today,” Silver shrugged, as if sensing his thoughts, and took the next corn. “It’d be wise to have some rest before the shore party returns.”

“You’re not doing it,” Muldoon announced.

“I’m not tired,” Silver assured him.

_Like hell you’re not_ , Muldoon thought, but never voiced it. This man was his Quartermaster, the second on this ship after the Captain and the crew respected him. A lot.

“Still,” Muldoon pressed, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

Silver looked at him rather incredulously and he felt his cheeks burn. Coughed and tried again.

“I mean, you’re a Quartermaster! Not a cook!”

Silver watched him silently a few moments, then picked another corn and began to peel it too. Muldoon felt small. Something stabbed him right in the chest and a fucking lump formed in his throat.

“Randall’s not here anymore,” Silver reminded him suddenly. “We still don’t have a new cook and…” he paused then shrugged slightly. “I had to be useful somehow.”

It wasn’t a lump – it was a fucking rock, clawing at his throat and tearing it apart. It was as though someone shoved a barrel of salt in his mouth and he tried to swallow it all at the same time.

“You are,” he croaked and fucking hell, the salt burned his eyes too. “You’re the most…” he swallowed, but the rock never went down. “I mean…”

Silver watched him, not interrupting, just listening and an open confusion was so plain on his face that Muldoon wanted to weep, to scream, to fall on his knees, to take his hands and plead, beg…

“You don’t have to do this,” he mumbled at last, his knees weak, his voice small, his hands shaking.

Silver looked at the half-piled corn in his hands.

“They’ll be hungry,” he whispered without any reason and Muldoon felt his heart stop for a moment.

Loud voices and stomping ahead started them both. Silver jerked his head up and listened for a moment. The corn fell on the floor but he paid it no mind. He stood as quickly as it was actually possible in his state and almost lunged forward, past Muldoon, as though he wasn’t there at all.

Muldoon rushed after him and when he reached the deck again, Mister Silver was already there. As well as the shore party. The men hauled their booty on the ship, stomped, talked, shouted, and it was a familiar chaos once again.

Except it seemed Mister Silver paid no attention to it at all.

Muldoon took a few quiet steps and stopped. Not by any chance would he approach him now. But even if he would he knew Mister Silver just wouldn’t notice him. He wouldn’t even notice the ship going ablaze right now.

Everything he saw was right in front of him.

They knew how he looked at their Quartermaster. They knew the name of this feeling. And not because they experienced it before or felt it by themselves.

It was because there wasn’t another word except “love” for the thing that was in Mister Silver’s eyes when he looked at the Captain.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than the previous chapters, but the next one will finally connect with the beginning of season 3. Aaand the real tension awaits! I'm so exited for what's coming next, I'll try my best to make it as good as possible! Thank you everyone for a wonderful feedback, for your comments and for your kudos. I love you!

The night events went wrong from the very beginning. Another raid, the same as those ones before – everything they did already. It should’ve been going as smoothly as previous ones, but it didn’t.

The town was too quiet, too dark, yet they still lunged forward. There was no turning back, not after all those burned places they left behind them by that moment. So they stalked straight ahead, torches ablaze, swords gripped tight in hands, faces covered.

The colonial’s regulars waited for them and unfortunately their counterattack was sudden and unexpected. They lost a few men in mere seconds and the shit progressed tenfold. Flint barked orders, but it became quickly apparent that they were drastically outnumbered.

In either event they’d be doomed, if not for a sudden whistling noise in the air, followed by a loud blast. It took Flint mere seconds to understand that it was the _Walrus_ cannons. Under the cover of its cannonballs the raid quickly returned to the boats and headed straight back. The ship, meanwhile, continued its fire, destroying their new target completely.

They did the same once, at first, with Charlestown. Flint remembered every second of its demise. And now, looking at another city, falling by his wrath, he felt nothing of the sort of those feelings that burned in him that day.  
Except now… he was angry, like that time. But for entirely another reason.

“I gave a clear order,” he stated in a deceptively tranquil voice. “The ship’s location shouldn’t have been uncovered by no means.”

Silver clenched his jaw and said nothing in return. Maybe because he knew already that Flint didn’t give a shit about everything he’d say in this matter.

He disobeyed the order, brought the Walrus at a dangerous distance, uncovered their location and now looked at him like he clearly wanted to argue on that topic.

They were in Captain’s quarters, Flint at his desk and Silver before him, straightened in his seat, even though it took him great effort to do that. Flint knew it – he saw it. In the hard lines of his face, in the dark circles under his eyes, in _these eyes_ , that were still so blue, despite everything that happened to their owner.

He clearly was lacking sleep. So was Flint.

He was in constant never-ending pain. And so was Flint.

“I made myself clear, from the beginning, that my orders are to be followed, no matter the circumstances,” he still continued, as unfazed as possible. Nothing mattered to him anymore – neither Silver’s pain nor, eventually, his own.

Nothing could be done to it, after all. Nothing could be said or thought. The only struggle he allowed himself was to turn these battles in a total war, consuming all high seas, if needed. And there was no place for feelings, emotions or even rest in this circle of things.

“The circumstances?” Silver suddenly repeated and leaned forward a little. “We faced colonial’s regulars tonight and that never happened before. They waited for us and they almost had us. I gave an order to open fire and yes, disobeyed your order, which I didn’t give a shit about in this case, because by doing it I saved your lives down there.”

For the first time in weeks Flint heard real emotions in his voice. Saw them in his eyes, which pierced right through him with something close to an anger blooming in their depths. He even raised his voice a little – that he hadn’t done in a while too. He always spoke now in a quiet, soft tone, which he almost never did before.

Flint thought he wouldn’t remember his voice from before by now. But he did.

Their eyes met for a brief moment and there it was again: all the fight dissipated, washed away in a flash, replaced by that same deep sadness that almost turned the blue of Silver’s eyes in a grayness of stormy waves.

He seemed frozen to Flint now, congealed in some sort of apathy, like the one Flint felt himself.

Maybe they shared it. This fatigue of men burdened with something they couldn’t bear to handle anymore. This weariness of a soul too tired to exist, slowly sinking to the bottom of being, where were no light and nothing at all.

This pain that was now the totality of Silver’s being, tearing Flint’s own apart, with no chance of easing it, because they were too tired to do something about it.

Yes, maybe, they were doomed.

“You won’t do it ever again,” Flint said, tearing his eyes away and standing, turning his back to him.

The silence stretched for so long Flint thought Silver wouldn’t say anything in return. That’s why a quiet “You know I will” almost startled him. The waves splashed his window from the outside with dark water, the ship swayed and rocket with their strong but for now peaceful force, yet he still heard Silver’s whisper, which dulled every other noise for him.

He stopped trying to understand how it was possible.

“Even if I order you not to?” he challenged, half-turning to him.

Silver wasn’t looking at him, his eyes went glassy, as though he was in some deep thought, but Flint knew it wasn’t like that. He clearly heard him.

“It’s my duty to challenge your orders,” he countered at last.

Flint clenched his own jaw at that and glared at him. Still Silver made no eye contact, stubbornly looking in his lap. It made Flint’s insides boil suddenly, creating a hot cannonball between his ribs, which grew catastrophically fast, threatening to explode.

 _I’m right here_ , he wanted to hiss. _You’re talking to me. You should be looking at me!_

A barely visible shudder ran through Silver and then he looked at him, his eyes suddenly so open and vulnerable that Flint almost took a step back. 

“But I don’t…” he trailed off and locked his jaw so hard his teeth scraped. Flint watched his eyes going down again, saw him clenching and unclenching fists and said nothing in return.

When the silence became unbearable Silver cut through it with a question, clearly closing the previous topic, without them coming to an agreement.

“We’re heading back to Nassau tomorrow?”

“No,” Flint stated, turning to his desk again. “There are still plenty things to do.”

Silver, judging by his tone, frowned at that.

“I don’t think it’s a wise decision,” he objected and Flint gave a snort at that. Silver, it seemed, pretended not to notice it. “The men are tired, they need to rest. It would be much better to make a stop at Nassau, to resupply and let the crew go ashore at last.”

“They went ashore every time we dropped anchor these months,” Flint retorted harshly and Silver looked at him in return with visible exasperation.

“They went ashore because you’ve led them to battle,” he clarified almost as harshly as Flint did. “What I mean, is for them to actually rest, somewhere safe, where they won’t die just from landing their feet on a solid ground.”

“That’s all this is about?” Flint grunted, glaring daggers at him and Silver had the audacity to glare in return.

“Of course it is, and you know it. We’re loosing our men every damn time you go ashore and don’t you dare saying otherwise.”

“We’ve lost them before,” Flint leaned forward and all but snarled it in his face, “but at that time you didn’t give a shit about their lives. Now you think you do.”

“This is not-” Silver rested palms against the desk and pushed himself upright. He seemed openly offended by the implication, but Flint wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily. Not now, when he started this fucking conversation in the first place.

“If you so concerned about them losing their lives the moment they place their feet on a solid ground, then maybe your own should be there too,” he all but spit in his face, rising too and the instant those words fell from his lips he wanted to sew them shut.

If he just lifted his hand and slapped Silver hard across his face the damage wouldn’t have been as catastrophic as from his words. But he wouldn’t raise a hand on him. He never intended to.

Though his words did all the damage already.

Silver flinched so hard he almost swayed and gripped the table for balance. He looked at Flint with an open raw emotion written on his face, as though he couldn’t believe in what he saw before him. 

But before Flint could just think of trying somehow to ease the damage of his words, he straightened and stepped back, his peg leg making an audible “thud”.

“Maybe I should,” he ventured, schooling his expression quickly.

Flint gripped his end of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. Silver turned and headed to the door, trying not to press on his peg leg too much. Flint looked at his own arms, where they locked around the hard wood and saw nothing, only darkness.

“What is it?” he heard suddenly and jerked head up.

Silver stood by the door, with his back to him, stiff and unmoving.

“What am I doing wrong?” he mumbled barely audible. “What mistake am I making? Tell me and I’ll fix it.”

Everything went quiet so suddenly Flint almost hadn’t noticed it at first. The ship, the waves, other noises – all it was silenced in an instant and he still paid no mind to it.

 _You chose Parrish’s ship. You chose mine. You took the page. You gave it to me. You stayed. You stayed. You stayed._

That _is your mistake_.

Those words, so many of them, they rushed in his mouth at the same time, blocking the way out entirely, making it even hard to swallow. That’s why Flint never said them out loud.

That’s why Silver, after a long silence, opened the door and walked away. 

Maybe that’s why later that night Flint hadn’t seen Miranda. Those words tore at his throat till morning and sleep never came.

+++++++++++++

The word spread easily. The men whispered in taverns, spoke in hushed tones, circulating truth and mixing it with made-up tales. They talked, prattled, gossiped, babbled – but the result was still the same.

All high seas knew his name now. Everyone feared him, everyone saw the war he created coming. Yet the pirates were hanged. Maybe those responsible for it thought he wasn’t a real threat to them. Maybe they feared their crown more. He didn’t give a shit.

The result would be the same for all of them.

Martinique’s Fort-de-France was no exception. Its magistrate hanged ten men, accusing them of piracy, leaving their bodies hanging on ropes, swaying and rotting for others to mock and throw insults at their lifeless bodies.

They almost done it to him too, eternity ago, in that damned town whose name was engraved in his mind with roasted iron.

He made sure Fort-de-France would never do it again. This town wasn’t special – it burned the same as others. Its people died the same death, sharing their home’s last minutes.

Flint was literally soaked in blood when they returned on a ship, but he paid it no mind, watching silently as the men dragged sacs of sugar and cocoa aboard. Then they brought full ten barrels of rum and the whole crew, crowded by this moment on a deck, whistled and cheered and howled in glee. They anticipated a feast that night.

A few hours later, long past they set sail, Flint heard distant roar, laugher and stomping, which indicated that they were at least two or three barrels of rum short.

It didn’t bother him as it should’ve been. As it would’ve been a long time ago.

Yet he stood and walked away from his desk, away from his bed, away from nightmares awaiting for him and when the cool night breeze touched his face he finally stopped.

The deck was almost empty, save from night watch, cockswain and... the Quartermaster, standing by the rails, gripping them with one hand. The other one was currently grasping the hanging rope for better balance.

Flint was the one to order to loosen these ropes. The men did it so quickly he almost wondered whether they’d wait for his permission at all.

Flint watched him absentmindedly, not for the first time noticing how different he looked now. Longer hair, new clothes... ne even grew a beard, which Flint doubted he’d do in the past. He seemed like entirely another person now if not for his eyes. Their color was the same.

He couldn’t think of it now. He didn’t want to. Yet he did. And it evoked something that should be long dead inside him. 

Silver, as if sensing his gaze, turned and Flint, despite the darkness surrounding them, saw his face so vividly as though it was lit by a torch. And the sight wasn’t pleasant at all.

Silver was pale and clearly exhausted, judging by his haggard look. As though he was the one who led the shore party and now faced the consequences of this raid. Except he stayed on a ship, just simply waiting for his men to return…

His men.

Fuck.

Before Silver could’ve said something Flint jerked his own head.

“Come with me,” and just headed straight back to his cabin, not bothering to look back. Judging by the stomping behind his back, this order wasn’t ignored.

When the door was shut he turned to Silver and gave him an open once-over. In the cabin’s light he looked even worse, with dark circles under his eyes and obviously painful clench of jaw.

“You should’ve asked,” Flint stated firmly and gave him a hard look.

Silver, it seemed, was too tired to answer with his own.

“Honestly, I don’t understand…” he began with this soft voice of his, but Flint cut him short.

“If you can’t sleep there you should tell them to shut up. You’re a Quartermaster, they have to respect your need to rest.”

With all these stomping, shouting and rum-soaking it was clear as a day that Silver couldn’t sleep below deck in his own hammock, being actually in close proximity to the very drunk and exited bunch of pirates.

Flint shouldn’t have been bothered by it. But he was.

Silver visibly stiffened and clenched his jaw even harder.

“They needed it,” he said at last, and Flint found himself slowly shaking his head.

“I don’t care,” he stated again.

“I know,” Silver answered in a strained voice and fell silent again.

Flint released a harsh sigh and looked at the cot by the window. It wasn’t nearly as wide as the similar one on a Man’o’War, but still wide enough for a grown man to lie down.

They shared the cabin only on a Warship, but the instant the Walrus was theirs again Silver moved below deck, to his hammock and every night stayed there. Flint never argued about it, he never even commented it.

He should’ve done it. Then why was it so hard to do it now?

They stood, facing one another, though not making eye contact. Silver swayed a little – Flint noticed obvious slump in his shoulders and wondered would he eventually collapse, if the ship suddenly rocked? He doubted he’ll manage to stand again after that.

“I’ll kill him,” he stated all of sudden and Silver jerked in surprise, confusion crossing his face.

“Whom?”

“The next magistrate,” Flint walked to his bed and sat on it. “His name’s Hazzard, I saw it written on a letter at Fort-de-France’s magistrate home. That man hanged pirates, though he knew about me. I killed him, placed a bullet between his eyes.”

He paused, vaguely wondering what was written on his face now. Was it rage? No, he didn’t feel any at the moment. Was it composure? But he didn’t feel this one either.

Was there something at all? Something except an open void he knew existed within him.

“Though the previous magistrate warned Hazzard about me. And still he hanged pirates too. I haven’t seen it yet, but I know it. They won’t listen; they won’t fear… unless I come to their doors and show it to them.”

“You’ve done it before,” Silver said at last, moving a little closer; he gripped the table’s edge for support. “All those towns… You’ve killed there everyone who ever claimed their loyalty to the crown.”

Flint closed his eyes for a moment, when a sudden wave of exhaustion attacked him like a wave – crashed and backed off so quickly he barely understood what it was.

“Yet why are you telling me this now?” Silver finished at last, his voice dropped to a whisper again.

Flint didn’t answer right away. He looked at him and felt that same exhaustion again. Somewhere inside his a tiny little voice asked if Silver felt it too. If they felt each other?.. Even though that wasn’t possible.

“Hazzard will die and his town will burn,” he said after a heavy silence. “And then we’ll set sail and return to Nassau.”

The silence stretched even longer after that, only the distant sound of waves pierced it like a pocket knife through the loan of bread. Flint almost remembered how its smell on a kitchen table, while Miranda smiled at him from an opposite chair.

She’ll never smile anymore.

“Thank you,” the silence blew out with sound again, barely audible, but so vivid, so alive and Flint found himself not looking in the eyes of the source, avoiding their gaze. “The men will be happy to hear that.”

“I’m not doing it for them,” he grumbled still and lay down on his bed. It swayed a little, but he almost hasn’t noticed. 

Silver added nothing, just walked to the offered cot and lay down too. He sighed deeply and Flint practically felt the pang of pain this simple movement caused him. Yet he only exhaled, made no other noise and after a small rustling there was silence again.

“I know you’re not doing it for them,” Silver whispered and Flint tensed, though he knew something would be said eventually. “But still… thank you. And goodnight.”

And everything became still again. Flint felt his mouth opening, but no sound came, just because there wasn’t any thought in his mind now. There was only this soundless calm he rarely felt these days. And silence. And vividness of every color in the whole surroundings.

The world was bright and Flint couldn’t sleep because of that. Or maybe because of some other shit his mind was screaming at him to come up with, even though the silence whispered, purred, demanded to admit the one real truth.

 _I’m doing it for you_.


	9. Chapter 9

This raid became the toughest and the hardest one, even compared to those previous ones. Not only the colonial’s regulars were better trained and managed to resist rather successfully at first, but the whole town, it seemed, was awake that night. Every window flickered with light, every door bolted shut, though it wasn’t a barrier they couldn’t breach.

However they came tonight not just for a good haul – they came for revenge, for justice. It was those words he said to them before they dropped the anchor in the town’s bay. The crew believed him, they practically bounced with impatience to break into the town and took what they thought was theirs.

He came not for revenge – certainly not the one everyone else came for. His own – maybe. But still it wasn’t a first thing inside his mind, when he entered a dimly lit room and looked straight into Hazzard’s eyes.

He came to drop another one of countless sacrifices into that bottomless abyss that existed inside him. To feed it again, even though he knew he’d never fill it enough.

Then he saw her again – lying on that floor, with bullet wound in her head, looking at him with glassy dead eyes. She was in the same dress she wore that day. Pale and lifeless, she lay there as if mocking him with her mere presence.

 _It’s your fault._

He walked away, gripping his pistol with numb fingers and called the shore party to head back. He did what he intended to do and now he would return and do one more thing.

The one he _promised_ to do.

+++++++++++++

Silver was right beside the rails when they boarded the _Walrus_ , leaving scathing fire behind them. Flint saw him glancing quickly to the men - no doubt even counting them - worrying if everyone made it back. He never would have done this before, though he wasn’t his old self at all too.

Then Silver looked at him and a smile graced his lips. A rare one these months and surely not an exited grin he’d show him before, but a smile indeed. Sometimes Flint would allow himself to quietly wonder was he the only one now to receive that smile? Or was it _absent_ because of him?

He gave order about Dobbs and quickly left to his quarters, though he undoubtedly felt that sleep wasn’t an option this night. Miranda’s face was haunting him in every dark corner of the cabin, on every surface, on the cover of every book. The darkness crept from every crack on the wall, from every cleft on the deck beneath his feet.

Flint closed his eyes for a brief moment, clamping them shut so tightly he saw yellow and red spots behind the eyelids. He gripped the table for balance, every muscle in his arms corded tight, every piece of his flesh burning with the need to will all of it to _go fucking away_ …

“…tain?” he heard a distant voice, as if someone was talking to him from a far away place.

He shuddered and clenched his teeth instead, not willing to open his eyes and see _her_ again. See her face, drenched in blood and water, with those eyes, where, he knew, he'd see only endless sorrow, regret and no trace of hatred or disgust she should have been feeling.

Because that was all he deserved from her.

“Captain?” someone called and this time the sound was so clear and vivid he gasped involuntarily, jerking his eyes open towards the source of it, towards the swirling darkness he knew awaited for him to see it again.

Yet it wasn’t there. The room was barely lit, but the corners lacked those thick muddy spots of all-consuming black. The moon shone from the windows and the room bathed in yellow and bluish light. The latter created such unique effect - it was like myriad crystals were scattered on the floor, sending sparks of color all over the place.

Flint slightly turned and – _oh_ – there he was, standing right beside him, illuminated by those light too. It felt as though this light was shining that moment exactly beca-

“Are you alright?” Silver asked, moving a bit closer and Flint saw a hint of worry on his face.

Only then he took in his surroundings and fully returned to his senses again. He was alone, when he came here, and he intended to be alone. Why Silver came then? To check for the word Flint gave to him last time to be kept?

Surely this was the only way why Silver would be here now. Not by any chance he would’ve came to the man who killed dozens of people, risked dozens of lives of his own crew and tried to wage a war against the civilization just because he could’ve been worried about said man.

He didn’t want this.

He didn’t deserve this.

“What do you want?” he asked, releasing his desk and stepping away.

“Howell’s tending to men’s injuries now,” Silver replied without missing a beat. “I came to ask if you need him come check on you too.”

“I’m fine,” he declined the covert offer, not looking at him.

Silver was a silent a moment or so, then Flint heard his peg leg stomp followed by an indifferent:

“I see.”

Still he made no move to leave. Flint felt something prickling deep inside his gut; some strange tingling in the pads of his fingers.

He wanted to turn around.

He wanted for him to go.

He needed to say something.

His head fucking hurt.

The world was bright and the darkness disappeared. He never knew why he wanted to scream, knowing this.

Silver shifted at last and Flint heard his mismatched footsteps nearing the door. Then he stopped again, but said nothing.

 _Go away_ , Flint wanted to tell him. Maybe he would even beg for it if needed.

“You should rest,” Silver suddenly said and then the door creaked and he was out. Flint was alone again, blissfully, for this was what he wanted.

Even if he had to grip the desk again, gritting his teeth till they hurt and just will himself to stay still and not bursting open that door and escape his own cabin like a weeping coward.

Because even though the darkness never returned that night, the light left too. And he would’ve trade his own ship just to know _why_.

+++++++++++++

By the time Silver came to him in the morning his headache was only getting worse. He slept for like a very short amount of time, but simply tried just to rest, laying there on his bed, which was gently rocking back and forth with the waves.

To his credit Silver remained silent, approaching him rather tentatively - as much as it was actually possible with an iron leg. It stomped audibly, but with every new step the sound was less and less loud, as if Silver deliberately put it down as quietly as possible.

It was strange… and a little amusing.

After a moment Flint decided to spare him this prolonged discomfort and revealed he wasn’t asleep in the first place. The quiet chuckle could be heard in Silver’s reply, when he told him about Dobbs and Flint sighed a “Thank you” in return.

 _Is that all?_ he should’ve added and Silver would have replied _Yes_ and then left, but…

Flint suddenly wanted him to stay and say something else.

That he certainly did and it made Flint open his eyes and sit up. The bed swayed a little, but he paid it no mind, sighing a few times. Then he looked at Silver, noticing him leaning on a desk for a balance. His peg leg was outstretched and Flint somehow knew it was a deliberate move to ease a pressure from it.

He almost hadn’t noticed gripping his own knee with his fingers and squeezing it. When it became painful he blinked, removing his hand away, not clearly understanding why he even did it in the first place.

Silver, moreover, offered in a rather demanding voice to replace him and Flint felt a pang of irritation at that. He just openly told him why that wasn’t an option and here he went for it again, as a stubborn child.

“Thank you for your concern,” he grunted, his voice a little hoarse by no meaning. He should’ve added a hint of an open sarcasm into his tone, but he couldn’t. Maybe he was too tired for it.

But it needed to be there, because by no way in hell would this man have even some resemblance of concern towards him.

Even if some part of him whished for it to be so.

“But I'll decide when it’s time to start altering our tactics.”

He turned away, heading to his desk but Silver’s next words stopped him.

“No, I’ll decide.”

And _that_ was entirely something new. Something in that voice of his, in that posture of his, which Flint saw from the corner of his eye, half-turning back to him and listening another one of his countless speeches, combined by one topic – “the crew and their well-being”.

The crew.

Always the fucking crew.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as headache worsened and fully turned to Silver this time, meeting his strangely compassionate face. 

“I understand this is all incredibly personal to you after the loss of Mrs. Barlow,” he admitted in that soft voice of his and Flint felt a shudder ran through him.

This words, this whole topic – it felt as if Silver was inside his head again, reading it like an open book. It was the worst case scenario. It was unaccepted, unwanted, it was…

“Now, wait a minute,” he huffed, shaking his head, but Silver hadn’t stopped. He still looked at him with those eyes of his, with those fucking expression inside them Flint hated to see now, loathed, feared.

 _Don’t look at me. Not like that_.

“And I understand,” he proceeded, his voice still soft and calm, but also somewhat strong, “the burden of playing the role you currently play…”

No, Silver shouldn't have been able to understand him, but he did and that was even worse than hearing Miranda’s name falling from his lips; than seeing her every night, trying to reach him in a new futile attempt; worse than knowing that despite every difference between them, he and Silver still understood each other so well Flint was almost afraid to acknowledge it.

“…must be taking a toll even you cannot fully comprehend.”

And he didn’t want to acknowledge it. By doing this he would also admit something else – entirely different and identical at the same time.

He shouldn’t let him talk. Shouldn’t let him proceed this fucking mind-reading he was so skillful at already. He didn’t want this.

He was afraid of things he’d see inside him that should be buried at the very bottom of his being.

“Stop,” his voice cut the air like a knife and before he could think better of it they suddenly were too close.

And everything stopped for a moment or for eternity, he couldn’t tell for sure. Silver fell silent and now looked at him with an open raw confusion on his face and something else too. Something that Flint could only describe as awe though this expression wasn’t the first thing he noticed.

It was his mouth, his lips, which almost glued Flint’s eyes to them and it was a few seconds before he managed to tear his gaze away from them, look him in the eyes and see what he saw.

What he saw from the very beginning, in Eleanor Guthrie’s office, all those months ago, when the morning light was streaming through open windows, illuminating the whole room and one particular man, writing something on a piece of paper.

Flint saw everything then: his fingers, holding the feather; his exposed neck with tiny beads of sweat in the dip of his collarbones; this fucking collarbones Flint couldn’t tore his eyes from for a long minute; a mop of dark curls, framing his face.

His eyes, so very _very_ blue, almost crystalline in the bright light.

John Silver was a beautiful man and Flint knew it from the moment they met.

And now this man was so close to him Flint literally could feel his breath on his own face. There was no personal space for both of them now and Flint knew it would require just one simple move – just one lean forward and-

Everything will end then. This move will shatter, destroy, break something that neither of them would be able to piece together again after that.

He couldn’t do this even if he wanted to. Even if some distant whisper inside his head kept telling him that Silver wanted it too. Flint couldn’t listen to that voice; he just had no fucking right to.

So when the words “In my head you’re not welcomed” fell from his mouth he was telling them not just in Silver’s face. He was trying to quiet that whisper, that far-away voice he just couldn’t allow himself to have deep inside his mind.

He couldn’t look at Silver again after that so he stepped away, widening that abyss between them with each step. His head hurt so damn much, as if on purpose. Silver stood stock still in the same place, remaining silent and even barely breathing – Flint couldn’t hear very clearly now with all this ringing in his ears.

Flint tried not to look at him again, willed himself not to turn around, not to glance in those eyes the second time, because in this case he won’t be able to hold himself back.

 _Just go_ , he couldn’t say it out loud, but he needed to. _You have to go away_.

When the peg leg stomped on a deck he winced, but still hadn’t turned his head, deliberately looking the other way and listening to Silver’s steps towards his door. There was something in the sound of them, something he should be paying attention too, but he couldn’t think of that now, couldn’t make himself bother.

This time he missed the moment Silver left but felt it nonetheless. This voice inside him fell silent immediately and the headache worsened. Flint sat on his bed again, holding his head in open palms and just tried not to think, not to remember those previous minutes.

+++++++++++++

Of all the ships they could’ve stumbled upon in the middle of their sailing back to Nassau it was exactly Hallendale. This man was neither the good captain nor the proper pirate at all. But now the new order were set in Nassau, letting every fool to sew a black flag, claim himself a “fearsome pirate”, take such fools as he is with him and sail on a ship, robbing merchants and other ships for a meager share of gold.

The war Flint was waging would consume those ones first.

The crew voiced their concern and Silver listened to their needs as he always did these days, ordered to change their course and couldn’t understand, it seemed, what was wrong with it. So Flint, rather incredulous in this matter, explained it to him without exaggeration. Only the truth – the bold and unpleasant one – but the man was a Quartermaster and he wasn’t intending to go easy on him.

Still the course was changed and now they had no other option than to go in closer and check the quiet ship.

When he finished speaking Silver was looking at him with the eyes of a kicked dog but said nothing in return. Flint handed him a spyglass and walked away, trying not to feel as if someone kicked him too.

Soon the ships were aligned. Hallendale’s was quiet and seemed empty. Almost dead. Flint felt some uneasiness growing inside him. Something clearly was odd and now they had no chance but to find out.

Silver gave the order to sweep the hold before he’d go across and Flint felt that tingling feeling inside him again. It wasn’t a concern from Silver’s part. It wasn’t.

Yet it seemed very much that way.

Silver was gripping the rails and even leaning on them a little bit, as if he wanted nothing more than to be the one to step on that ship along with his men. Along with _him_.

Flint went first, stopping Silver mid-sentence and almost felt his displeasure, but paid it no mind. Not now. Yet when he stepped on a deck of Hallendale’s ship he threw a quick glance back – a pure involuntary gesture, so quick he hadn’t had time to tell himself not to do it.

Their eyes met and Silver shifted forwards again, only for the rail to stop him. Flint saw the way his fingers dig into a hard wood. It seemed painful but Silver hadn’t noticed it at all.

He was looking at him. And Flint stood there, frozen to the spot and couldn’t find any strength to turn away.

Then Silver opened his mouth, but no sound came. His lips formed something, but no one heard it yet Flint did. One quiet word – “Captain” – echoed in his head and he jerked away as if burned.

Looking around the ship he coaxed himself that it was another one of numerous hallucinations which were tormenting him even when he was awake. Or it was something he’d made up himself. Something he wanted to hear. Something that hadn’t existed in the first place.

Every dark corner of an empty ship hissed at him _liar liar liar_ making his mind burn.

+++++++++++++

Hornigold. Always a _fucking_ Hornigold.

Flint felt a massive intention to fire all they had at his damn ship and breathe a little easily after that. Unfortunately they were boarding the _Walrus_ now and not a Warship with hers guns and cannons. And the _Walrus_ was no match for a Hornigold’s ship.

It made Flint’s rage intensify at least tenfold compared to all other unpleasant emotions he felt already.

The crew panicked, but still followed the orders; yet everyone knew all too well that they were in a huge trouble. Not to say they could be a dead men really soon.

And then Hornigold’s voice reached them and things he was saying set Flint’s insides ablaze. He stood there listening as this fucking rodent offered his men – offered him – to accept those pardons Thomas fought so hard to achieve.

It felt as though someone grabbed the memory of Thomas and Miranda from his head like a cheap piece of paper and twisted it, crumpled in dirty fists and then tore it to shreds, throwing them in his face.

It was England’s fist. It was her and her king smiling faces.

The void inside him roared, screamed in thousands voices of those ones he dropped there by his own hands and then exploded with surges of pitch black, swirling around him, circling around his ship, swallowing her, tasting her, pleading him to _give her to us we’ll take it we’ll embrace it with every single one here just for you to be satisfied_.

 _We’ll change the world for your will. We’ll take everything from them as they did with you and we’ll see your wish be finally granted_.

 _Just give it to us. Give them to us_.

 _Give hi-_

Something cracked in his ears and he looked down, seeing a tiny splinter in the rail he currently gripped with his hand. Then he looked to the side and there…

There were those eyes looking at him again. Looking at him with such intensity, such brightness.

Such faith.

He missed the exact moment these voices quieted but it was his own voice that held the attention of everyone on the ship. He told them what he’d do and he knew they’d follow him. He had them there, every single one of them, including the one who under any other circumstances wouldn’t agree with him in that matter. But he watched him silently and Flint only felt his heavy gaze.

He allowed himself a tiny smirk when he told looking Silver straight in the eyes where would they go now. He saw as the men visibly paled, he heard De Groot’s open concern, but he paid it no mind. Handing a spyglass to Billy he sent the men to prepare for their maneuver.

Silver was silent beside him but stayed close. Flint felt his eyes but never looked back. He just couldn’t.

Not when he listened. He fucking listened and now he’d sacrifice if needed all their lives just for the world to bend before him again.

The same world that shined bright in this moment as if mocking him.

Then the Hornigold’s cannons fired and there was no turning back. The ship shook, the men screamed, then another powerful hit made Flint’s back collide with the rail and he hissed through clenched teeth. His hand fell on something beside him and he flinched when this something gripped him in return.

Silver was there, looking at him through the mess and Flint felt helpless against his eyes. The world was frozen and shined impossibly bright, yet Flint couldn’t tear his eyes away from the center of this world.

“Captain,” Silver mouthed but no sound came.

Cannons flew above them, the storm roared in the distance, yet they looked at each other as though nothing else mattered right now.

Flint’s fingers felt numb when they gripped his wrist. He felt numb when his lips moved.

“Trust me,” he barely mouthed but he knew Silver heard him.

The simple nod in response was everything he needed to stand on his two feet again and surge into battle he was intended to win.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, because I just couldn't find any other words to make it longer. Muldoon's POV. The last one of his.  
> It was really hard to write and even harder to rewatch the whole related episode.

The hammer went down partially on his hand and Muldoon hissed, jerking it quickly away. Fortunately it wasn’t heard behind an angry roar of the waves, which pushed the walls so hard as though trying to break them and gush inside.

It was hard to concentrate and focus on his task when all he could focus on was beside him. In any other circumstances Muldoon would be glad of this turn of events, but not this time.

The ship swayed again and Mister Silver with him. Muldoon jerked to his side, but the Quartermaster quickly regained his balance and stubbornly resumed the previous task.

_You’re not supposed to be here_ , those words were just on the tip of his tongue, but Muldoon knew better than to voice them.

Mister Silver did almost everything now he wasn’t supposed to do, though no one told him that. They shed a mutual concern for him, exchanged worried glances behind his back from time to time – and with all that they hadn’t thought less of him by no means.

Hell, they knew he was the bravest man among them. And right at this moment as well as those numerous previous ones he was deliberately overstraining himself! Just, as he said to him mere seconds ago, “to be helpful somehow.”

After _that_ Muldoon couldn’t stay silent and voiced his opinion of this matter and it seemed to lighten the mood in this hell of a cage, partially flooded with salty water seeping from every damn crack.

“You are again offering moral support,” Mister Silver said and Muldoon grinned at that, because he’d offer it a thousand times more, as long as his heart is beating, just for this man to breathe easily.

“Does that mean we’re married?” he smiled, risking a glance on him and – _fucking hell_ – what would he trade, what would he do for it to be possible.

He didn’t have the guts to just simply hope for a matelotage, but to believe that somehow he’d look at him in a different way, he’d truly see him at least one simple time – that he allowed himself to do. Despite how painful it was, how _truly impossible_.

Because no amount of wishing, no amount of staying by his side every damn possible time would change one simple fact.

Nothing would erase one particular man from Mister Silver’s thoughts. Nothing would tear his eyes away from this man whether he was near. Nothing would wrest that man from his heart.

Not by any chance would just a tiny, a smallest part of Mister Silver belong to him, when he already belonged to the Captain.

And it made Muldoon’s insides burn in flaming agony because this fucking Captain was still neglecting what was right before him. He totally disregarded his own Quartermaster, seeing him neither as an equal nor as a decent man at all. They saw it in his actions, heard it in his voice whenever the Captain talked to Mister Silver on a deck. Which happened quite rarely these months, and that was annoying as hell too.

Sometimes Muldoon would have to clench his teeth so hard they scraped when everything he wanted was to openly shout in that damn closed up face.

_What more do you want? You have everything right in your hands, just take it! Why can’t you see it?_

Because either the Captain really couldn’t see it or he just didn’t want to open his eyes. And it was so not damn fair! Sometimes Muldoon felt a frustration eating at him and deliberately stayed below deck otherwise he knew he’d made something stupid.

Something Mister Silver wouldn’t approve of.

Because no one tried to challenge the Captain or his orders these days. They knew what the outcome would be. They knew that Mister Silver was the only one allowed and capable of doing it in the first place. And they fucking knew how it tore him apart every time he was forced to do it by Captain’s own actions.

He loved the Captain and it was so damn obvious to everyone but not to him and the Captain himself. Muldoon knew it since the very beginning – he was the first one maybe to notice how Mister Silver looked at the Captain. Dooley was the next and, it seemed, in a short amount of time the whole crew was speculating what exactly the two of them did in Captain’s cabin alone.

Billy frowned every time he caught even the hints of these whispers and, it seemed, truly believed it to be total bullshit. Billy was a dimwit in this case, unfortunately.

Mister Silver didn’t catch anything at all, because the crew kept their mouths shut about this when he was near. They rarely talked about this matter at all, to be honest, and not once Muldoon caught their stares on his own head.

They knew he was in fucking deep and no one commented. No one mocked him, no one said a fucking word to him.

Was it a relief or a curse? He didn’t know.

Mister Silver loved the man who didn’t deserve him and there wasn’t a fucking chance Muldoon could change that.

But-

The hit was so powerful it opened almost every damn hole in this damn hold, flowing right on both of them. The ship was swaying from side to side so hard Muldoon couldn’t even tell where the up and down were. But before he could regain his balance and look for Mister Silver something crashed right in his gut with such force it tore a shout from his throat.

His back collided with hard wood and the unbearable pressure on his lower half only intensified with each passing second.

The cannon – he was stuck under a fucking cannon.

Then everything was a blur of water and frantic movements. Mister Silver tried to free him, to pull him out, to move the fucking cannon at least a tiny bit, but it became apparent that no amount of struggling would made a damn thing even creak.

Muldoon heard him calling for someone to help, saw him trying to do any thing possible, but as the cold water gushed inside through numerous holes the cold seeped inside him and suddenly he knew that despite Mister Silver’s struggling everything was already over.

He wouldn’t make it and the freezing calm from this knowledge scared him more than an inevitable death.

He’d die and never see the light again, never taste the food, hear the crew’s bragging on some shitty topic, never look at Mister Silver and have courage to just step forward and spill it right as it was.

He’d never see this man and suddenly it crashed full force on him. It wasn’t fair, he didn’t deserve it, he didn’t want to sail in that damn storm at all! It wasn’t his own choice, it was Captain’s fault, it was-

He trashed his hands frantically and then felt strong fingers gripping his own in a vise like hold and he stopped and just looked. He saw those blue eyes he admired so much, those dark unruly curls he wanted to touch someday, that body he felt hot by even looking at every time.

He clenched Mister Silver’s wrist with cold hands and looked, and looked, and looked. Then told him something, babbled with cold lips and clattering teeth, but after every word spilled he couldn’t think, couldn’t remember what it exactly was.

His mind felt cold, his heart hammered one second and then slowed down almost completely. He shivered, he was drowning, but he couldn’t look away from one man who was beside him, who was not his and now would never be-

And all he could think of was impossibility, a fucking miracle, a thing he never did and didn’t even believe of having courage to do, but-

But he heard a whisper the other day. He heard a way to know, if the one you fell for is the only one. A way to connect, a way to be with that person, a way that wasn’t fucking possible for him, it wasn’t, it wasn’t, but still!

He couldn’t think of something else when his lips moved. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t even think when he whispered “John Silver”, not tearing his gaze away, not breathing, not blinking, just waiting and hoping by some small still alive part of him that the miracle would really happen!

Except it didn’t and the water touched his ears, circled his head, crawled closer and closer and still nothing fucking happened!

“John Silver,” he sobbed, his voice breaking, his hand shaking, his body feeling again, but nothing came, nothing changed and only Mister Silver gripped his arm harder, pressed it to his chest and Muldoon felt his heart beating wildly, saw his lips moving, but the sound was lost to the crashing realization that the miracle didn’t happen!

Except it shouldn’t have happened at all.

Because the man he loved belonged to-

_Oh_ , Muldoon thought before the cold engulfed his body and everything he saw was pitch-black. _Maybe that’s why_.


	11. Chapter 11

This was madness. A nightmare. Those words Billy shouted in his face, but Flint paid him no mind. The bosun just didn’t know what the true madness was. And this? This was just a fucking storm.

And yet it was a living, breathing thing – a wrath of nature, a call of sea to devour every insolent little human who dared to challenge its power.

He dared to because nothing mattered to him; he feared nothing. If the storm was madness to his men then he was mad along with it. He was mad to fight it, to outrun it, to not fearing it.

The waves billowed on both sides, crashing down and then rising again; the _Walrus_ screamed, moaned with each hit, with each shake, the wood creaking, the masts leaning down, threatening to break completely.

Flint gripped the slippery handles of the wheel as though his life depended on it. The rope around his body squeezed his ribs, the water flooded in his face, his eyes stung from the salt and cutting gusts of wind, but his hands never shook.

Then everything suddenly calmed, just like minutes ago and Flint knew what that meant too well. He braced himself against the enormous attack, clenched his teeth and then the ship killer shoved the Walrus hard.

Flint nearly lost his footing, desperately gaining balance on a swaying deck and the rope was the only thing that helped him remain his position and not disappear in the waves below.

But maybe… it was a solution. An offering to the relentless nature, a small sacrifice for the sea, which would swallow it and just wouldn’t notice, as it did countless times before.

Though perhaps he would be enough for it to stop this madness, to calm its waves, to let the sky clear.

To let him rest.

His mind was blank, his grip loosened, his skin burned and the world was-

Bright.

Something touched him, tugged him, shook him a little. Something that shouldn’t have been here. Something that he-

Someone.

Flint turned, blinking away the salt and suddenly Silver was there, right beside him, one hand clutching at his coat and the other gripping the wheel’s handle. He was there – _here_ , in the center of this fucking madness and Flint found himself speechless, unable to form neither thoughts nor words to describe what he felt now.

Except one. _Why?_

Silver’s lips moved and Flint tried to focus, to calm the desperate ringing in his head to listen. It mattered – what this man was telling him.

It mattered every time.

Silver let go the handle and gripped his coat with both hands this time, tugging a little – Flint felt it, lowered his eyes to look and the awful noise in his head started to came down.

“Come with me,” he heard finally and met the shining blue of Silver’s eyes again.

He was… so pale. Yet so bright.

“Captain, come on, we need to go,” his voice was desperate and so was his face; Flint noticed every tiny detail now and he hadn’t even wondered how and why.

Silver’s hands shook, he felt it, he saw it – his whole body shook so hard he wondered how he still regained his balance. Yes, it wasn’t even possible, because no way the man could stand on the swaying deck with just one leg.

Yet it didn’t matter anyway. Nothing did, except-

“You’re freezing,” he told him, feeling eerie calm. As though the outside world ceased to exist from this moment and there were only two of them in the left out void.

“Captain,” Silver tried again, but Flint shook his head and turned fully towards him. He gripped the rope around his body and threw it aside, then shrugged his coat off and put it on Silver’s shoulders.

“You’re cold. You shouldn’t be,” he told him as if this was the only thing that mattered right now.

And it surely was.

The look on Silver’s face was strange, Flint couldn’t understand it, his consciousness became hazy, he leaned forward a bit, feeling his hands slipping from the wheel and wondered vaguely would he collapse on a deck or sink right into the waves.

Neither happened, someone steadied him, called for him and it wasn’t Miranda, it wasn’t her voice, she was down there – in the pitch black of a sea, waiting for him, offering him comfort, opening her arms towards him, allowing him to rest finally.

But with each step he made he withdrew further from her and maybe he should’ve fight it, the merciless force taking him away from her, but he couldn’t. And not because there wasn’t any strength in him to do it anymore.

Somehow he knew that with each new step away from her he was drawing near the only place he belonged from the beginning.

+++++++++++++

When he woke up the ship was still and unmoving. No waves, no wind – nothing touched her and this, Flint knew, was even worse than a fucking storm. The absolute motionless, where all they could do was praying for even one tiny gush of wind.

They were in the doldrums now and even the man who dared to challenge the wrath of nature was helpless here, in this place. Though they’d be fools to give up so easily. Flint gave orders to the men – a rather pointless ones in a situation like this but he knew he should distract them somehow, even for a little bit.

He retreated to his cabin to compute something barely resembling a way out or a good prognosis. Things were real bad and they worsened rather rapidly.

Silver was the first one to came and Flint immediately noticed his worsened limping. Then he saw his hair in a tight ponytail and the absence of a coat. Any.

He gave him his own coat when they both were on a deck and the storm roared around them. He gave it to him and it was pointless, really, because the sea soaked them both to the bones. Yet he did.

When he woke up this morning and saw Billy sitting near the coat was neatly folded beside him on a nearby chair. He never asked who left it there.

He never asked who brought him here from the storm, laid him down on his bed, let him close his eyes and sleep without a trace of nightmare.

He fucking knew the answer already.

“We’re extremely lacking the rations,” moreover Silver said bluntly, looking at him with a blank face. Flint didn’t like it at all, this look on him.

It bothered him. Hard.

“How long will they last?” he clenched his jaw, anticipating the answer already.

He almost heard _You wouldn’t like it_ hanging unspoken between them.

“If we divide… a week, maybe a bit longer,” Silver looked down for a moment and Flint saw his face morphing in a look of dismay.

But there was something else. Somewhere deep inside him. Maybe Flint could reach down there and expose it. Maybe he should’ve done it, but-

“What-” he began and Silver looked at him almost desperately.

 _Ask me Ask me Ask me_ – this is what Flint saw in his eyes at that moment.

The knock on the door and Howell entering after a second startled them both. Flint frowned at the doctor, expecting something unpleasant. He was proved right.

“I came to ask what to do with the bodies,” Howell seemed uncomfortable, nervous even, clasping some piece of cloth in his hands and constantly squeezing it.

“What bodies?” Flint asked bluntly and saw a movement from the corner of his eye.

Silver fidgeted a little, gripping the nearby chair for balance. He was looking at Howell and Flint was looking right at his profile.

Anguish. It was right there, in the corners of his mouth, in his eyes. Only half of his face was presented before Flint now but even that was enough.

“We’ve lost a few men in a storm,” Howell answered grimly. “But we’re in the doldrums, there’re no waves and the corpses-”

“Stop,” Flint interrupted and he sure as hell didn’t raise his voice but it echoed in his own head like a scream.

Howell immediately fell silent. Flint clenched his fist and his teeth.

“Find something heavy and tie it to them,” he muttered at last. “It’ll make them sink. Go.”

The doctor left without another glance or word and the silence felt like a heavy weight on Flint’s shoulders.

Howell talked about the dead ones and Flint looked at him since he started. He didn’t have to stare at Silver to see his face again. He fucking _felt everything_ already. The gut-wrenching pain clawed at his throat, making him shut Howell up.

Their doctor was either wise or lucky. Flint was certain that moment that if he wouldn’t stop talking then there would be another one dead body on this ship.

Silver shifted at last, turned to the door.

“I’ll address the men to help him,” he said in a strained voice.

“Billy will do it,” Flint cut in. “Stay here.”

Silver turned back and Flint saw a barely contained remorse inside his eyes. They seemed almost gray now, with everything their owner felt.

“Stay here,” he repeated, hard and Silver dug his fingers in the chair’s back. He wasn’t arguing, he wasn’t saying anything at all. He just looked and every passing second felt like a knife in Flint’s stomach.

 _Don’t go there_ , he thought without a reason. As if Silver could actually hear him. _You won’t be able to-_

The gray replacing startling blue suddenly disappeared for a moment – Silver closed his eyes, turned away and… sat on a chair heavily. He still hasn’t spoken a word, opened his eyes then and just… looked somewhere down, as if seeing something below Flint couldn’t see.

Flint’s knuckles cracked, he pressed his mouth in a thin line and returned to his calculations. Then set them away, because he saw nothing at the moment.

The world shined brightly from the mocking rays of sun, streaming through the windows. Flint wanted to drown in it, to never see something else again except this blinding light. Yet he didn’t see this light at all, as well as his hands or his table or his surroundings.

All he saw was the hollow gray of pain, crawling over the crystalline blue, trying to erase it completely and knew that _this_ terrified him now more than the storm, the doldrums or the death itself.

He parted lips then closed them again. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. Though he somehow knew that Silver didn’t either.

They stayed like that for a long time, barely even breathing. The darkness fell suddenly, though Flint paid it no mind; he shifted only when the cabin almost drowned in a pitch black. Moonlight was barely streaming inside and he lit a single candle.

Silver sighed quietly when the yellow light bloomed in the thick blackness. Flint placed a candle on his table, then came to his own bed and sat, barely feeling his own body.

He missed the moment when he decided to lay down and to close his eyes. He missed the moment when Silver left eventually.

He missed-

He didn’t fear death and so Miranda appeared that night and _she_ came with her.

+++++++++++++

The next day they started to cut the rations. On a fifth day they did it again.

+++++++++++++

On a twelfth day they cut everything that barely could’ve been cut, but they had no choice. Even Billy agreed with him. Though since they ended up in a doldrums he was like a grim and silent shadow of his past frowning self. Even his ever-present look of utter perplexity was gone. Now he seemed tired, like all of them.

Except Silver. The Quartermaster wasn’t looking tired. He looked like he’d fucking collapse by just one light push. He was loosing weight rapidly, quickly than all of them, despite the fact that he was one of the two men on this ship who had a full ration every day.

However, he didn’t. Every time – _every damn time_ – he’d split his own ration between men and ended up almost starving. Flint knew it, he hadn’t seen it, but he knew Silver did it every time and by any other circumstances he’d be furious over that fact, but now-

Now he was too tired to care.

Yet he did anyway. He did when he told in an almost gentle tone to cut the crew’s rations again. He did when he stayed silent in the beginning of Silver’s outburst, when he saw a desperate disagreement in his eyes, the horror over the fact that his men would suffer more. That now half of them would starve to death.

Flint saw what this knowledge did to him. He almost _felt_ it.

 _I’m sorry_ , he wanted to say but stayed silent.

 _It was your fault since the Hallendale’s ship_ , he said instead and Silver’s face fucking shattered, an open raw hurt flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by his newfound stubbornness and determination to do what needs to be done to make sure this crew – _his_ crew – stays alive and well.

Flint cared when he told Billy to keep and eyes on Silver because the dehydration, lack of sleep and obvious starvation would be taking its toll all too soon.

In this case Billy agreed with him completely. Silver’s well being was important to him – Flint never tried to guess why, given the fact that Billy wasn’t very fond of Silver in the beginning. Since the latter lost his leg something changed but Flint paid it no attention.

He didn’t want to try to understand that now. There was no strength in him to do it.

He saw Miranda not only at night now. Even on a daily basis she appeared before him, showing him what have been in the past, but never what _would_ have been if things went in other direction. And every time there were she, a pitch black faceless figure, standing beside his shoulder.

He knew _why_ she was there. Now he couldn’t say she was unwelcomed.

+++++++++++++

On the twenty-first day he barely could tell the difference between reality and the tricks his mind played with him. But then he saw her again and this time she was in a deep-green dress, the one that suited her so well and suddenly he couldn’t call at a trick. It was a reality, vivid, bright, beautiful reality where she was with him again.

She looked at him, talked to him and he knew he’d do anything just to stay like that, with her, till the end.

Then there was a boat, the colorless sky, the colorless world around them and her deathly pale face cracked in a tiny smile when she told him she’ll leave him soon. He’d scream at her not to. He’d weep and beg but there were no strength left in him to do it.

+++++++++++++

The voice brought him to reality, where the sun burned his already too dry skin, parched his chappy lips, blinded his almost sightless eyes.

There were no strength in him by that moment but his legs moved, his body shook from its stupor and followed this voice, as though an anchor. And then this voice kept talking, bringing reality upon Flint’s shoulders with every new word.

This voice demanded to make ready the launch. This voice demanded from him to go there with its owner.

This voice said “I stole it” and Flint’s own lips parted almost against his will.

“What?”

“The Urca gold,” the voice told him and the reality crashed upon him full force.

He froze, gripping the oars with both hands, sitting in the boat in the middle of nowhere and feeling the piercing gaze on his back from the only one man who lied to him, then told him the truth only to lie again.

Maybe he should have known, should have guessed, suspect... But he didn’t.

“Why are you telling me all this?” he managed to ask when Silver paused, either to think or to regain his breath. His voice was too weak, strained, even wavered a little.

He was exhausted. 

Flint didn’t want to, but he cared.

But why?

“So you can decide…” Silver’s voice wavered again and then voiced the options with such rectitude, as if he allowed Flint to pick one choice and do it, despite what would that be.

 _Fight me. Or kill me. Or be my partner._

Flint knew the answer to it since the moment they took the Warship together.

“You conceived all of this?” he still said after a moment, and it wasn’t even a question despite sounding like one. Because, yes, the answer was yes, and still-

And still he wanted to see him. To see his eyes in this particular moment, to read a look on his face. He wanted to do it every-

“What,” he asked next, trying so hard to focus, to stay still, not to turn around. He was afraid of the things he’d saw on the face of the man behind him. “What did you do with your share?”

“I gave up my claim to it,” Silver confessed without missing a beat and Flint was waiting for something but surely not expected this.

“Why did you do that?” he couldn’t help but ask and he wanted – _he really wanted_ – to know the answer to that, because since the moment they met all Silver wanted was that damn gold. So why would he-

There wasn’t a tiny bit of waver in Silver’s voice when he told him his reason. There wasn’t anything there except the knowledge that now he knew he wasn’t a full man anymore. And no gold could replace the fact that his leg was missing and no one in this fucking world would need him now.

As no one needed him before.

Silver knew it and Flint heard that in his voice.

He said nothing in return, just gripped the paddles again. The boat jerked a little and started to move again. Flint worked, straining his already aching hands, feeling every muscle in them scream in protest.

The man behind him was silent again.

As well as horribly wrong.

 _It’s not like that_ , he couldn’t say those words to him, they stuck in his throat and refused to be voiced. _You’re wrong. It’s not like that at all_.

+++++++++++++

The whale was dead but she sharks, attacking him at the moment weren’t. It was a relief until one particular shark that was doomed to become their salvation decided to attack them too. And not only in the sea but in the boat too.

When the wild creature at last ceased its struggling, Flint leaned heavily to the side, trying to regain his breath. Something rose inside him, swirling his insides in a tiny little storm. It was mere seconds before he recognized it as a… delight.

He was fucking happy, almost hysterical, but the maddening laugher never surfaced. Instead he lifted his head and saw the startlingly blue eyes looking at him with the same emotions he was feeling now himself.

The chuckle came, the smile cracked his dry lips open but he didn’t give a shit about it, asking “Again?” and barely containing an open smirk when Silver smiled at him in return.

+++++++++++++

When the boat reached the _Walrus_ and the crew threw them the ropes ends to tie them around their feast Flint saw Silver’s hands shaking so badly he gripped the rope from the second attempt. He looked at his own bloodstained palms and so them shaking too. Not so hard, though.

“Let me,” he offered and Silver didn’t argue, just silently watched him tying the knots.

The shark was hauled in mere seconds; judging by the crew’s loud cheerfulness and exclaims they already began their work on it. Flint glanced at Silver sideways:

“I hope they’ll remember about us.”

The Quartermaster offered him another smile – a tired one, but truly sincere. Then they were handed a rope-ladder and it clearly became obvious Silver wouldn’t be able to climb it by himself. Flint saw his swaying a little, when he stood, and had to bite his tongue from voicing it out loud.

Silver gripped the ladder, clenched his trembling fist and started to climb. Flint looked at him the entire time, trying to keep up and soon the crew helped him on a deck again. Silver almost lost his footing and Billy quickly grabbed his shoulder but the Quartermaster regained the balance with one of the hanging ropes.

“I’m fine,” he shrugged Billy off. The latter said nothing, just frowned and headed to the shark.

Time passed in a blur. He ended up in a hammock, almost not feeling his own body, just awful tiredness seeping through him like a tide. Someone brought him water and he drained the whole mug in one gulp. Then there was a piece of meat – raw bloody meat – in his hand but from the first bite he knew it was the most delicious thing he ever ate in his life.

The men lay around him, someone ate, someone already did, someone slept and the whole deck was almost quiet except barely audible murmurs here and there.

Something warm was caressing him, as if he was covered in a fine blanket. There wasn’t one, though, and Flint lifted his bloodshot eyes to understand what that was.

He saw the sky then, in the eyes of a man who was looking at him too. Silver sat on a deck, gripping in his bloodstained fingers the mug with fresh water and looked at him, almost unblinking. There was a smile on his face, a tiny tug in the corners of his mouth, yet it was-

Something touched Flint’s face then and he looked up, though he really didn’t want to. No, he didn’t. Everything he wanted was-

But the wind returned and the crew rose to their feet, touched the ropes, the sails, exclaimed, hugged each other, laughed. Flint rose from his hammock on unsteady legs and made a few steps forward, not tearing his eyes from Silver again. He mirrored his movements and stood too, but he was shaking visibly, as though each tiny movement was hard for him.

Maybe it was but Flint couldn’t care less.

They did one new step each and met midway. Silver was looking at him and smiling and Flint knew that nothing in the world would make him tear his own gaze away from that smile.

“Finally,” Silver breathed with a smile and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he locked them on Flint and the sky there was bright and cloudless. The gray was gone.

 _Ah_ , Flint thought and the world shined around him with warm and beautiful light. _I love him_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me longer than I thought to finish it. Not because of the writer's block or something, just my real life and job taking their toll on my as well as almost all of my free time. I'm into the next chapter already and I hope to finish it sooner. Thank you for your support!

It wasn’t a punch in the gut or sudden lack of air in his lungs. It wasn’t a thunder roaring above him or a lightning flashing brightly till he couldn’t see anymore. It was just that, simple truth, a well-known fact he was too stubborn to acknowledge earlier.

This feeling – this _love_ – it grew inside him every day, yet he hadn’t allowed himself to admit it so openly. Maybe he didn’t want this _again_. Maybe he feared the forthcoming sense of shame he knew would gnaw at him the moment he’d let himself acknowledge what exactly he felt.

Yet this shame… didn’t come. Not the guilt or even rage. And it was so simple, so plain, because all of it couldn’t torment him just because he knew that he’d never let himself do something other than just simply accepting this feeling inside him.

He’d never say it aloud. He’d never let his mouth form those three words that meant so much. And by not doing it he wasn’t betraying anyone.

He’d never let himself feel it again. Or even hope for something.

They were partners, committed to each other, close to each other and despite this _love_ he felt he wasn’t intended to change anything. And not just because he was afraid to open up for something that destroyed him and his loved ones in the past.

His love ruined the Bond Thomas and Miranda shared. Twisted it and damaged beyond repair. They were Soulmates and despite their will to share all they felt with him he still committed a crime. He was just too selfish, too stubborn to understand it then and now these wonderful people were gone forever. 

Because of him.

He couldn’t let a simple crack appear in this wall he built so long inside himself. He knew that this _love_ would spill through a tiny fracture and he couldn’t let it happen. Because even though they called him “fearless” they couldn’t know that right now he feared one thing even more than loosing a war he started.

His _love_ would destroy the only man he intended to protect and it terrified him to unbearable extent.

He loved John Silver and couldn’t let himself do it. 

 

+++++++++++++

 

“We’ll drop the anchor here,” he pointed to the map and heard Billy’s relieved exhale. He didn’t look at him, though, staring right at Silver. He hadn’t washed after they cut the shark, though pulled his shirt on and now Flint saw glimpses of red on his neck.

He wanted to touch them, smear with his fingers, scrub them away to reveal the sun-kissed skin underneath. Though it wasn’t disgust he felt. It was a too-long suppressed desire to touch his skin, to let his fingers trail it and to see Silver’s reaction.

He wouldn’t do it of course.

“It’s a small island,” Silver admitted, looking closely at the map. He hunched a little and one loose curl fell on his face. He barely noticed it. Flint did but looked away. “It’ll provide us with fresh water and maybe even some food. I guess we’re lucky.”

“We are,” Flint agreed and Silver gave him a soft smile at that.

When they dropped the anchor, the boats brought them on a deserted beach, surrounded by far away hills, blooming with green in the distance. Flint squinted, slightly amazed by the fact that the color of the forest on these hills was so vivid to him. Yet he shrugged this thought away in spite of more important things to do.

The men already started to build a camp and Flint ordered Billy and others fetch fresh water. They needed it even more than food and sleep now.

Dooley was the one to return with two full buckets of water and Flint made a few long gulps before handing one bucket over to Silver. The Quartermaster still was near the boat, leaning on it and splashing his face with sea water to get rid of the shark’s blood on his skin.

He thanked Flint with a tired smile and drank the water; his hands trembled so hard Flint helped him to lift the bucket.

Silver let a relieved sigh and tried to tug off his shirt to properly wash but swayed suddenly and bumped his leg against the hard wood. He clenched his teeth before any sound escaped but Flint saw a flash of pain crossing his face.

“Hold still,” he reached him even before his mind demanded not to and gently helped him to remove a shirt.

Silver blinked at him but moved without word, freeing his hands and head and then reaching for the water again. Flint saw the caked blood on his chest and neck and turned away, vaguely noticing that he still held his shirt in his hands.

The wind caressed his face and suddenly he saw _her_ again, standing in the distance, looking at him. Her skirts were ruffling soundlessly in the sea breeze, her hair still tucked in that tight bun and not a loose strand broke free from it.

“Captain?” the wind softly whispered and he barely suppressed a flinch, glancing back.

Silver looked at him and confusion on his face mixed with something akin to worry and uncertainty. He cocked his head to the side and then nodded on the shirt still held tightly by Flint.

“Can I have that back?”

Flint returned it without another word feeling himself kind of… strange. And maybe a little flustered. Silver never said a word too, tugging his shirt back on.

They moved further into the beach, Silver swaying dangerously on too yielding sand when Howell approached them with a new bucket of fresh water. He placed it before Silver and pointed to his stump.

“We need to clean the wound to prevent irritation. Fresh water will help.”

Silver gave a sigh at that, frowning for a fleeting moment but didn’t argue. Just lifted the bucket and limped to the nearest sand-dune to sit.

“You need my help?” Howell called after him and Silver’s spine visibly tensed.

“I’ll be fine,” he grumbled back and sat heavily, stubbornly trying to remove his peg leg by himself.

Howell silently rolled his eyes at Flint and walked away. Flint watched Silver for a moment and went for a new bucket of water, which were left by the men already near the growing camp.

He brought Silver two more buckets before decided to sat beside him and have some talk. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw an angry irritation on a damaged skin of his Quartermaster’s stump but didn’t comment it. It was a sensitive topic to breach now, after they finally gained their shaken balance again.

Silver, though, was the one to start a conversation and, to Flint’s surprise, it included Hornigold and pardons he accepted them not too long ago. Surprise quickly faded when he felt suddenly impressed by Silver’s train of thought of this matter. Some small part of him felt a childish offence, because Silver definitely had all of this in his mind for quite some time yet didn’t say a word to him.

 _And what would you say – how exactly would you push him away if he did?_ his mind whispered and Flint scooped up a pile of sand to will these thoughts away.

He was hard on Silver for a long time and this realization hadn’t dawned on him in a sudden flash; he knew it since the beginning, maybe. This man irritated the hell out of him since their first meeting, yet now, thinking of it twice, Flint understood that deep in the core of his soul he felt _attraction_. He felt a strong pull towards a young thief, with his bright smiles, cocky attitude, silver tongue and everything else that pissed Flint so much.

They gravitated towards each other despite Flint’s attempts to deny it. And now this man was completely different, his attitude changed drastically, yet the pull… never subsided. It never did before. Even in the damned boat, when the truth about Urca was all but thrown in his face, this pull somehow grew stronger with each passing second.

Now, talking about pardons, Silver reached deeper inside Flint, almost revealing the truth about his past and these fucking pardons and that fucking England and Flint was ready to let him in, tear that bloody lump from his gut from everyone to see.

He’d let this man touch the void inside his soul because maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to bear it alone. Yet the horror he felt about it was raw and bone-shattering, because he knew that the moment Silver reach that void and see what’s inside, it’ll drive him away forever.

And that’s why Flint sat there, unsaid words just on the tip of his tongue, being unable to say something else.

 _Just read it in my mind_ , he thought suddenly, even though it was fucking impossible. _Because I can’t say it and can’t lie to you at the same time_.

Silver looked at him silently, a clear puzzlement on his face; Flint saw that he tried to understand sudden pause in their conversation. Flint saw that he was close to the truth – closer than anyone – and it terrified him, amazed him, alarmed him, astonished…

Flint’s mouth opened despite his will, despite the screams in his head, and nothing came out, because that was the exact moment his crew was surrounded by the maroons.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The trek was hell. Flint almost hadn’t noticed the path under his feet or the men before him. He kept glancing back, almost walking sideways, because Silver was limping too hard, his face pale and covered in thin layer of sweat.

He fell and couldn’t even lift himself on his elbows; Billy and Howell reached for him, but it was Flint who helped him stand. It was Flint who made sure he regained some sort of balance. He hadn’t even noticed an angry maroon and his weapon, his harsh words and everything else. He barely noticed on of their men escaping – it didn’t matter anyway. There was no point in running now.

Though all he could think of was Silver and the painful clench of his jaw, the grayness of his eyes, the obvious pain on his face.

“Lean on me,” he heard his own voice and Silver looked at him in surprise.

He hadn’t argued though and placed a hand on his shoulder but it became clear after a few steps that he barely leaned his weight on it. Maybe he didn’t want to show his weakness, when his men followed. Maybe he didn’t want to be a burden.

But he wasn’t.

Flint hadn’t said a word to it. He grabbed his hand and pressed it on his own shoulder as tightly as possible, feeling a sudden tension in Silver, feeling his step halt for a second. His grip strengthened and a moment after Silver leaned harder, placing some of his weight on Flint’s shoulder.

It was only when they were placed in the boats Flint realized his fingers still circled Silver’s wrist. He took his hand away and looked at it the whole journey to the maroon camp. His fingers burned as if he touched something hot.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The Queen demanded to know who was their Quartermaster and Flint looked her straight in the eyes. The moment passed unspoken between them but he knew she understood the implication.

She was ready to kill every threat to her small kingdom. Well, he wasn’t a king nor he had a kingdom to rule. He had only his crew, battered and broken beside him.

He wouldn’t kill for _them_.

It was only _him_ that mattered now among all those people.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Four men were dead, their bodies left near the cages by the Queen’s order. To mock them, to haunt them, to tear their minds apart, as well as the sight of his own dead crew tore at Ben Gunn’s brain the whole time he stayed in that cage. He told them it, hunched in a corner, voice trembling, trying not to look at the “new addition” to his confinement.

Flint paid him no mind, leaving Billy the talking. The bosun clearly felt some sort of interest to Gunn’s words and was talking to him since then in a hushed tone.

Others preferred to lie down and have some sort of mocked rest, even in their current circumstances. There was nothing they could do though.

People kept flowing past their cages, smiling, chatting, busy with their day-work. Children run in the distance, playing and laughing, completely oblivious to the fact that there were a bunch of doomed men no far from them.

The princess was the only one who glanced at them longer than anyone and her gaze was locked on the only one of them. Flint sat, leaning heavily on the bars, and looked at her from the corner of his eye. She was currently talking with someone, polite smile grazing her lips.

Silver looked at her too and Flint couldn’t understand what was in his gaze. Was he interested? In what way? How was it Flint’s business? Why was he even noticing that?

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a pang of headache. When he opened them again Silver was looking at him. He was still gripping the bars and standing near, but his gaze fell from the princess and landed on him.

Flint blamed the headache and his weakened state for the spark of satisfaction he felt after that.

“We could be staying here for a long time before we find the solution to our problem,” Silver told him in a quiet tone. “You should rest as the situation allows it.”

“I’m not tired,” Flint retorted dully and Silver quirked a brow at that.

“Even I am tired,” he stressed out and Flint felt a tug at his own lips. It was rare for Silver to admit his weakness and he did it… because of him.

Flint just shook his head, but closed his eyes and heard a quiet sigh above him. If it was a relief he heard in it he preferred not to say it aloud.

 

+++++++++++++

 

She stood near a boat waiting for him to accompany her. He lifted a hand to help her sit and her fingers traced his wrist. She was cold but Flint didn’t shudder.

“It burns every time,” she said, looking at his hand and Flint saw a deep longing on her face. “Though it is the sweetest pain a person can feel.”

She looked at him then with a sad smile and climbed in a boat and he followed her immediately. There were no shovels, but the boat sailed itself, calmly, inevitably.

He glanced back at her and she smiled at him again. She gripped her own wrist and stayed like that, but he didn’t ask and she was silent too.

 

+++++++++++++

 

He opened his eyes and there was night surrounding them. The men slept or just lay awake, waiting for their fate. Billy sat closer and voiced his plan. Flint listened and pretended to encourage it, just to distract the bosun.

Silver saw right through him and Flint knew it. He wanted to say something about it, wanted to talk to him, but his head hurt and he was tired.

He closed his eyes again…

… and the boat was moving further. He knew what awaited them at the end. He knew she would left him alone and he asked if he would stay here with her.

She smiled again, pale and kind and sad. And said nothing.

He never asked again.

Next time his eyes opened Silver was gone.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Something burned inside his gut, turning his bowels into ash, liking his bones, trailing down and up at the same time. It circled his throat like a rope, choking him. It speared his head from each side with candent blades.

It was rage, so dark and ugly, he wanted to thrown up. Though he didn’t because there was something he wanted even more than that. Something he’d do to that woman when he’d break free from this cage. Something he never did to any woman before.

He stood and there was no wobble in his knees. He made a step and it was hard and stable, as if all his strength was back.

 _But it wasn’t, because she took it from him_.

He gripped the bars and his fingers screamed in protest. He felt tiny chips of wood breaking his skin, plunging under, freeing drops of blood. It was nothing compared to the sea of this substance he’d spill in these fucking place, _because she did it to him_.

She laid a hand on something she didn’t even deserve to look at.

She did it and he hated her, and them – all of them around him and down there, in this mockery of a kingdom, in their beds where they were safe. But they weren’t, because he was here.

 _But_ he _wasn’t_.

She took _him_ away.

 _But it’s my fault_.

He closed him eyes, his grip shaking and loosening a little. Someone’s voice tried to reach him, through the screams in his head, but he barely heard it.

Because _he_ wasn’t the-

“Where are you?” the question suddenly broke his trance and Flint blinked, then glanced back.

Yet he was. Right there, on his left, untouched and alive. His face was showing and open concern and Flint didn’t understand it. What happened? Why was he so worried? Everything was fine again, because he returned.

But she could take him back again. She could and she would, he knew it. He couldn’t let that happen, but his strength faded again. As well as the rage, leaving emptiness behind.

 _I’m here_ , he wanted to say and opened his mouth but the truth he said after that was entirely different.

 

+++++++++++++

 

“You are not alone,” was her last words to him and then she was gone.

He closed his eyes and when opened him again Silver was looking at him, gently touching his shoulder. Flint stared back and felt something inside his head. Something that pleaded him to _say it, say it, say it_.

“Captain,” Silver called and Flint saw a hint of worry in his eyes again. “You need to see it.”

 

+++++++++++++

 

When Scott’s eyes closed and he fell asleep the Queen returned. Her guards stood not far from her, their weapon raised and pointed at him. Flint hadn’t intended to pick a fight, he took the knife before she was back and now it was safely hidden in his boot.

He rose from his seat and turned to her. She glanced back, her face a stony mask of distrust.

“I’ll let you talk, today. When the moon will rise you’ll be brought to me,” she said, stepping closer. She was small, much smaller than him and it would be easy to take a step forward and end it right now. He wouldn’t.

“You should remember,” there was the hard edge to his own voice. “I’m the one you should talk to, not my men.”

“I have no interest in what your men say,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes. “You should mind your words, though.”

He took a small step forward and the guards moved forward immediately. She waved a hand at them, not disturbed at all and looked at him without fear, her chin high and her eyes icy-cold.

“You took my Quartermaster last night,” his voice was quiet and he wondered if she felt the darkness that circled them. “Don’t do it again.”

She was silent for a moment, either mulling her answer or contemplating whether she should give one at all. Then he saw her frown. Though the answer she gave was something he didn’t expect.

“It wasn’t me,” she turned to guards and nodded. “Take him away.”

He walked, feeling her gaze on his back; her answer echoing in his ears. They both quickly guessed who was the one responsible for Silver’s sudden disappearance the previous night.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Silver was the only one who commented his plan and his eyes were filled with worry Flint really wasn’t prepared for. Others remained silent and just threw him quick glances from time to time. No one approached him.

It was better that way. Either he’d save them that night or die for their freedom and, honestly, he couldn’t care less about each possibility. After all only one man’s life mattered to him in this case. 

The man in question was currently talking to Billy about something, but Flint was too far away both physically and mentally to pay attention. He caught a glance Silver threw in his direction and held it for a moment, then looked at the small knife in his hand again.

He still felt his gaze on him, but refused to stare back. It was pointless now. Even if he wanted to. 

He blinked once and suddenly he was at _that_ shore again. The boat was empty near his feet, almost unseen in the thick fog, surrounding the entire place. It waited for him to sit and sail him back, away from the place _she_ went to.

He made a step and there wasn’t a hard wood of the boat under his foot. It was water, eerie calm and silent, calling him in, showing him the rest he hoped for. He made another step and the world blurred a little. He back in the cage, but the water was still there, it flowed under him, rising higher with each passing moment.

Suddenly Silver approached him, sat heavily with an audible sigh, completely unaware of the flowing death he was placing himself into. Flint wanted to ask him to stand and walk away from it, he couldn’t drown, he couldn’t, not him.

The water reached his knees when Silver started talking. Flint tore his gaze from it and looked at him when he finished. The sky in his eyes was so blue he wanted to touch it. His hand twitched but hadn’t lifted, though the sky was still there, so vivid and so beautiful.

He loved it.

The guards came and took him away. There was no knife with him when he faced the Queen. 

He talked and she listened and her men, her women, her daughter and her husband listened too. No one said a word since he started talking, as though he cast a spell on them, taking away their voices like in a tale Miranda read to him long ago. 

When the morning came he let her talk again; she stood before him with a new emotion in her eyes. He didn’t try to understand it – he knew already what it was. The same he saw in Eleanor Guthrie’s eyes, and Gate’s eyes and everyone’s too when he talked and wanted them to listen.

They took the chain off his wrists, handed him a new coat and freed his crew. He saw them escaping their cages as well as a bewilderment on their faces, quickly replaced by relief. They were alive again.

Yet he spared them no second glance. Only one man stood before him now and he was the one that mattered. There was a relief and wonder on Silver face and when he talked he sounded hopeful.

“Thank you for opening that door,” Flint answered, letting a smile break free and Silver smiled back at him.

The ground under Flint’s feet was dry wherever he went. The water never came back.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madi's POV.

The ceremony has just begun and everyone’s eyes were centered on a flamen. Every soul seemed spellbound by the chaotic movements, the sound of the drums and the smoke filling the place.

Madi stared at her father, almost ignoring the flamen. Mr. Scott – she didn’t even remember his name – was laying in the center of the hut, his skin damp, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and weak. She could’ve guessed he barely noticed the ceremony taking place around him.

Her mother talked to her about his condition, tried to tell her he was gonna make it but the recovery would be a long and hard process. Madi nodded in response and hugged her tightly. She never said her thoughts about the matter, which were far from what her mother hoped.

Mr. Scott – her father – was dying and no flamen, no doctor, no herbs, no plea to every possible deity would change that. She knew it as she could physically see a Grim Reaper standing beside his bed.

She would cry later, she would mourn, despite barely remembering her father. Yet he was the other half of her mother’s soul, he was the man whose hands held her when she was born. He was the one to protect her and her mother from the harsh world by hiding them here, creating this place just for them to be safe.

She loved him deeply and, despite there being no hope left, she would stand here and pray with the others, wish with her mother, forcing herself to believe that something could be done.

Madi tore her gaze away from Mr. Scott’s face for a moment, looking around the wide circle. Some of their men were whispering in tune with flamen’s song, some women clasped their hands and closed their eyes. Everyone waited and hoped.

Yet someone wasn’t there.

Madi frowned and asked where the pirate was. No one knew, except her attendant – he jerked his head towards the way where the hut they provided the pirate with was. Madi thanked him and told him to stay here. She wanted to handle this alone.

And of course the pirate was there when she appeared, sat on a coach, hunched over something unseen to her. She saw only his back, framed by his long hair. When he and his crew appeared here his hair was tied. She didn’t understand why she kept this in memory.

She talked to him, almost accusingly and it felt somehow wrong that he didn’t look at her the moment she came. Yet he listened, she noticed him lifting his head and the movement seemed strange, Madi couldn’t understand at first, stepped closer, approaching him from the side and then-

He turned and she saw his face at last – ashen, covered in sweat as much as her father’s. His eyes barely focused on her and she stopped talking, because it was wrong, the way his eyes was glassy and almost black, the way his body trembled and his-

His leg. She has never seen something like that before. The skin was red and purple at the same time, almost dark in some places. And the smell was awful, like the flesh was on the verge of rotting.

Her tongue felt numb, her breathing almost stopped. She watched in horror at the terrifying wound and couldn’t think of her father, dying in a hut nearby. She barely thought about her mother, waiting for the miracle that wouldn’t happen.

All she could think of was _Why didn’t you ask for help?_

“I’m fine,” he mumbled quietly, clearly seeing her shock. She noticed him covering the infected wound with the trouser leg, as though shielding her away from an ugly sight.

“Don’t!” she blurted stepping closer. “It’ll make it worse.”

“It’s alright,” he shook his head and curls framed it, sticking to his sweat-slicked skin. He barely noticed, closing his eyes for a moment.

He had a fever, she suddenly understood. A high fever to be precise and this was a very bad sign. His crew was gone along with their Captain and this man – the Quartermaster – was the only one left.

Her mother asked the Captain to left someone with them to guarantee their newfound alliance and the Quartermaster offered to be the one to stay. Everyone agreed, though Madi caught a strange glance the Captain threw at his man. She couldn’t understand what it was and hadn’t tried to.

Now she knew why that man decided to stay. What she didn’t know was why he hadn’t asked for his crew doctor’s help before his condition worsened. It was disturbing.

She noticed Kofi standing outside the hut, waiting for her. He must’ve followed her here silently and now she was thankful for that even more than always. She called for him.

“I’ll bring a doctor and you stay here, watch him,” she asked. She hasn’t seen a threat in the pirate; she asked to guard him in case his condition would get worse before she returns.

The Quartermaster leaned heavily on a wooden railing beside him and shook his head stubbornly. She tried to reason him but he refused to listen, repeating that he didn’t need help and this will pass. By the look in his eyes Madi knew that everything would be getting worse soon. 

She looked at Kofi again and he understood the unspoken words. He quickly left and she knew that he’d return soon with the doctor. Judging by the pirate’s exasperating sigh he understood her decision too and hadn’t liked it.

He talked to her, his voice shaking a little, he made a few pauses clenching his jaw so hard she almost heard his teeth scraping. He did it to stifle the sounds of pain threatening to break free from his chest.

Madi looked at him as though for the first time. The things he said, the concerns he felt about his men and not at all about his own well-being – she knew it very well. She hadn’t felt it yet and maybe never would, but she knew who already did.

She never saw a King in her life, because here, in this safe place of their home, they didn’t need one. Her mother was the Queen and she ruled with a steady hand, but this man… He was something else entirely.

She told him about her mother’s burden and in the end – about his own crown he clearly has been wearing for a long time now. He was the King to his men and he thought and talked like one. She wondered if someone noticed it too.

The silence between them was heavy; Madi just looked at him but he didn’t look back. He stared at his leg, his face a mask of suffering and pain.

“I don’t need a doctor,” he whispered again and there was an unspoken amount of hurt in his voice.

“What do you need then?” she asked, stepping closer, as if cornering a frightened animal. He was shaking so badly she wanted to drape him in a warm blanket, just to ease his pain somehow.

The Quartermaster closed his eyes and his face twisted in something close to grief.

“He’s not here,” his voice broke; his fingers trembled, clenching his horrendous wound through the course fabric of pants. “I need him. I need-”

He fell silent, only panting heavily instead of speaking. Madi didn’t say anything about his sudden answer. She tried not to think about it now, though she felt the understanding dawning on her.

The doctor came and she shook all unnecessary thoughts away. The Quartermaster opened his eyes again and looked at the doctor but remained silent. He clearly accepted everything that awaited him and refused to argue anymore. Maybe he was too sick to do it.

He revealed the stump again and the doctor frowned at the wound, shook her head at Madi and quickly started to prepare some salve from the herbs she brought with her. Madi looked closely, but the King didn’t – he was too tired to do it, judging by the fact that he barely could sit upright. She noticed him gripping the wooden column for balance, his eyes were closed again.

When everything was ready he sat straighter as much as his remaining strength allowed him to. And refused the laudanum.

“Why? This-” Madi tried to reason him but he looked at her and there was something strange in his eyes. She couldn’t comprehend what it was.

“I hadn’t it the first time too,” this strange emotion was still in his eyes when he refused the stick to bite too and asked the doctor to just do what needed to be done.

It hurt awfully – Madi could’ve guessed it did. Though he made no sound, save for the harsher breaths and scrape of his teeth, but the creaking wood he gripped with his fingers did it for him. She looked at his hand and covered it with hers.

His skin was wet and his wrist… burned with fire. It bit her fingers and she placed them higher, not touching that scorching hot spot anymore. She didn’t understand why this thought crossed her mind but it felt wrong to touch this man’s wrist.

As though this place was for someone else’s fingers.

+++++++++++++

Later that day he talked a little about _him_. Though she felt that wasn’t the whole truth about the man he was remembering at that moment.

When she offered him to be his anchor – to hold the rope – he said “Maybe” and added nothing. Madi turned the page of her book absentmindedly and when looked at him again he was asleep.

His fever subsided a little after that and returned full force when the night came. Madi helped the doctor to remove the bandage and spread a salve other the wound again. He was blissfully unconscious the whole time, but trembled and tried to turn away a few times.

Madi wiped his face with cool rag and covered him with blanket. He opened his eyes and looked at her. The blue sky in them was glassy and she instantly knew he couldn’t see her.

His lips moved but no sound came and after a moment his eyes closed. Though Madi saw an unspoken “Captain” in the movement of his mouth.

+++++++++++++

Next time the doctor came his fever wasn’t so severe, though the procedure still was too painful to bear. And still he made no sound, just closed his eyes, pressing his teeth tightly together. Madi couldn’t tear her eyes from the entire process.

When the doctor finished and stood to walk away he suddenly said “Thank you” and she blinked at him in surprise, then glanced at Madi and at last nodded.

Next day she came again and by the time she finished there was a smallest smile in the corners of her mouth. He mirrored it as much as he could with all the pain he felt. Madi looked at him the whole time again and couldn’t understand the sudden hot lump in her gut.

By the fourth day he suddenly decided to ask doctor something.

“Can I walk?”

She cocked her head and he turned to Madi, puzzlement open on his face.

“I’m sorry, she can’t-”

“She can understand you,” Madi smiled, encouraging doctor with the nod.

“It’s not healthy,” the latter said at last, nodding at his stump. “But you can. Not too long.”

When she was gone Madi asked him where he wanted to go. His eyes went somewhere far away from her.

“To the beach,” he acknowledged at last. “I want to go there.”

They both knew why he wanted to go to the beach. They both knew why he would stare at the waves there, barely noticing the outside world. They both knew he would wait and they both knew whom.

+++++++++++++

She was reading a book, waiting for the King to wake up. Today the procedure was harder than usual, even she could tell just by one look at him. His fever started anew, as the doctor said, but, blissfully, not as strong as at the beginning. Madi watched the doctor’s work, then – John Silver’s face. He told her his name a few days ago, when she escorted him to the beach. The breeze was caressing his face, he closed his eyes and let a smile soft his features.

Madi loved him since that day.

She always came with the doctor and always stayed an hour or so after. Picked a book since the procedures started and barely read twelve pages ever since than. She watched him most of the time.

Today his sleep seemed calm, his face relaxed – a rare sight – and suddenly young. She vaguely wondered how he looked without his beard, when he was at his very youth. How often he smiled, what made him happy. She doubted he felt happiness now, though maybe only with his Captain. 

It was a sensitive topic she still never dared to breach. She hadn’t even mentioned his Captain to him, though they barely talked anyway.

Madi looked at her book again; the words seemed foreign to her, her mind elsewhere. She wondered when other pirates would return. What would they bring with them? How would he react when he’d see _him_ again?

“It’s Don Quixote, right?” she jumped in her seat, looking at him with wide eyes. He blinked at her and smiled somehow sadly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I thought you’d be asleep for a while,” she coughed, regaining her composure as quickly as possible. “Does it hurt?”

He made no move to sit, just looked down at himself for a second.

“It’ll pass.”

The same answer he gave her and the doctor these days. It frustrated both of them.

The silence stretched between them and Madi looked down at her book again. Then she remembered.

“Yes, it is,” she nodded at her lap. “How can you tell?” she hadn’t read it aloud, not even a few words. She didn’t think to.

“The covers,” he looked at the book too. “They’re the same.”

“Did you like it?” she ruffled the pages absentmindedly, staring at him, catching a shake of his head.

“I haven’t read it. Only saw the book.”

His eyes were focused on the book the whole time. There were that deep sadness on his face, mingled with longing she often saw in her mother’s features. She wondered if he even saw her at this moment.

“It’s not mine to touch,” he finished softly and closed his eyes.

Madi felt a lump in her throat and swallowed. She opened the book again, barely noticing she closed it before, and started to read. When after a few pages she did it aloud he hadn’t stopped her. Nor did he say anything. His eyes were still closed, but she guessed sleep wasn’t an option for him anymore.

+++++++++++++

The next day her mother asked her to come. They were together in the Queen’s hut and Madi saw softness in her mother’s eyes when she took both her hands and gently rubbed them with just pads of her fingers.

“I hope it’s that,” the Queen said, touching Madi’s wrist; the implication was clear as a day, though Madi still tried not to raise her hope high.

She thought about it, it would be foolish not to admit those little sparks of joy she felt while being with John Silver. But the Spiral and the Name – it was too early to think about it, when they barely knew each other and rarely even talked, simply sharing the mutual silence in these rare hours she sat near his bed or accompanied him to the beach.

Still the future was promising, she hoped for it. 

Kofi interrupted them suddenly with an urgent news and the moment Madi heard “Captain Flint has returned” her heart started to beat a little faster. Though, no doubt, that John Silver’s heart would leap from his chest the moment he’d-

“Bring the Quartermaster here,” the Queen ordered Kofi meanwhile. She couldn’t have known that her own daughter wanted to be the one to bring this news to the man in question, but Madi never said a word. She just smiled at her mother again and decided to wait.

It didn’t take long for them to appear. John Silver came with the Kofi, his peg leg in place. Still pale and with a noticeable limp in his step, but his features composed and his stance steady. He nodded politely, seeing a Queen and she nodded in return. He glanced at Madi quickly; she stepped forward and offered him to sit. He said no word of protest, lowering himself onto a nearby cot.

That was the moment three men entered. Madi recognized the tall one – Billy, if she correctly recalled his crew calling him by it – and the Captain, of course. The third one was unknown and she looked at him closely for a moment. He met her gaze, but said nothing, just stayed behind Flint, leaning on a wooden column and crossing his hands over his chest.

There was something dangerous, even predatory in his features, in his whole posture, and Madi felt uneasiness, creeping inside. Still Captain Flint seemed perfectly fine with this man standing at his back and she decided not to dwell on these thoughts for the time being.

Then their own people arrived and the council began. The Captain was speaking, and when he wasn’t that man spoke after him. His voice was raspy and harsh, but he had shown an open threat neither in his speech nor by his actions.

When the Queen asked for everyone to leave they did. John Silver stood and limped forward, his shoulder brushing his Captain’s coat for a moment. Madi saw them glancing at each other for a brief second and even though she couldn’t see John Silver’s face, the look in Captain Flint’s eyes was enough for her. 

It was quick and she couldn’t catch any coherent emotion there, but the corner of his mouth tugged upright even when John Silver left. It seemed as if Captain Flint was almost happy to return, but it confused her even more than those strange relationships between the two of them.

She tried not to think of their connection to each other. It was not her business, it wasn’t relevant for her. She knew she shouldn’t have been bothered by it, but when she stepped outside where others were waiting and saw John Silver’s face something inside her twisted and hurt.

She wondered would it have been possible for him to look at her the same way he was looking at the hut where his Captain stood. As if he found a casket full of treasure and couldn’t have waited to open it.

 _Maybe Captain Flint found his own treasure too?_ she thought while the man in question stepped outside with her mother. Madi looked at him and then followed his gaze.

He did.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update. I was busy trying to enjoy Winter Holidays, doing nothing and making sure my mind was relaxed and unburdened, even with ideas. No I'm hopefully back, this a new chapter, and we're slowly but surely approaching The Real Thing. Thank you everyone for your wonderful feedback, it means a huge lot to me!

Vane was sulking: an ever-present frown on his face, his mouth in a thin line, even an almost visible dark cloud could be seen above his head. All of this resulted in a restless wandering from one corner of the ship to another or, quite the opposite, long hours of sitting on a deck staring at the sea.

Flint pretended to ignore him most of the time. The crew, though, looked a bit displeased at first (no doubt remembering their earlier interactions), then, it seemed, grew bit by bit accustomed to his presence around them. Either it was their own changed judgment of him and his previous actions or a result of the Quartermaster’s persuasion.

Flint was perfectly sure it was the latter.

Silver barely interacted with Vane at all, not saying a word to him or even throwing him a second glance. His face betrayed nothing when their eyes occasionally met, nor did he show any form of spite towards another captain. They interacted exactly like that back in those days in Nassau, when everything changed after the gold was delivered, Eleanor Guthrie had been arrested and the island warily waited for changes. All the talking with Vane and Rackham was left to Flint, as well as the next interactions; Silver was struggling with his new position, with crew’s obvious care and concern and, of course, with his injury, so there wasn’t any need for him to deal with Ranger’s former crew. 

Though Flint knew that every time Silver saw Vane he remembered that day. Charlestown. Part of their crew dead because of Vane’s men. And, eventually, the loss of his leg.

Now it was hard to notice a painful clench of his jaw and not to react. Though at least part of the time Silver was distracted by another “guest” they currently welcomed on a ship.

The Maroon princess – Queen’s daughter, Madi – whom she sent to follow them, as her closest representative. The men paid her far greater attention even than Vane. Some of them wore a frown on their faces, just by looking at her, but they made a great effort of hiding it, no doubt in favor of Silver. Others were obviously impressed by young and appealing woman among them, throwing her glances with obvious interest in them. Though no one dared to made even a small comment or a simple wink towards her and that, it seemed, was thanks to Silver too.

Madi, on the other hand, brought some of her own people aboard with her and that seemed to irritate most of the men, especially after they discovered that in term of sailing skills the maroons were dumb as fuck. Though the crew already had a rather displeased experience of this knowledge when they headed to Ocracoke. 

The princess didn’t react neither to the whispers nor the obvious glances. Either she didn’t notice them at all or preferred not to. However Flint guessed it was more the former than the latter, because the princess looked only at one man on this ship and Flint haven’t even tried to mistake these glances with something else except genuine interest and adoration. He was familiar with the look in her eyes – he wore the same one back in London, when his growing feelings for Thomas became evident for him with each passing day.

The difference between that and this was simple, but a hard one nonetheless: he was ashamed of these feelings and the princess, it seemed, welcomed them. She didn’t try to hide them, but, of course, not to show them for everyone to notice too. But he noticed and couldn’t help but wonder was it because he and Silver were partners and started to know each other so well that they even saw how others looked at them and what they thought of them or the real case was a simpler one?

Was it because the princess was falling in love with the man he loved too?

He knew the right answer already and that’s why tried to busy himself with charts, with thoughts about how they were going to reclaim Nassau, with small occasional talks with Vane, which the latter, surprisingly, kept up rather enthusiastically. He did everything possible for the sake of something inside him not to clench and scream every time the princess smiled at Silver and he gave her his own in return.

Flint couldn’t let that tiny part of his being that pleaded those smiles to belong to him cloud his mind and consume his thoughts. He couldn’t have that and he knew that sooner or later the princess – Madi – would be the only one owner of that soft look in blue eyes he couldn’t help but love.

He knew already that he would never belo-

“Captain?” Silver was looking at him with a slight frown, standing so close Flint almost felt the heat of his body and barely suppressed a shiver.

“Told you he’s spacing out like this every damn day. Looks kinda creepy,” Vane commented, crossing his arms and looking at him skeptically.

“What?” Flint blinked, shaking off his too-long-stupor. He tried not to loose himself in thoughts on a bright day, but sometimes just couldn’t control it. As if his mind tried to lead him closer to some knowledge he was still too blind to see.

To let him see the truth already, but he refused every time. There wasn’t any point in this, and no truth, he knew, would be revealed to him at the end of this road. Only illusions he’d walk away from. He wasn’t that man who’d gladly let them consume him. He was before and would never be again.

“You wanted us to gather inside your cabin, to decide our tactics when we drop anchor in Nassau,” Silver reminded meanwhile. That frown was still present on his face and Flint could’ve guessed it had a hint of concern in it too. “If you want we can delay in for later-”

“No, we’ll discuss it now, as we decided,” he retorted, but looked at Silver and let his voice loose its hard edge for a bit. “Tell Billy and the princess to come, they need to be a part of it too.”

“Did it already,” the Quartermaster assured and his face visibly relaxed, but he was looking at him till the moment Billy, Madi and her maroon bodyguard entered the cabin. There were corners of the cabin brightly lit, but when the others came in, this glow faded. Flint haven’t paid it attention, he was familiar with his eyes playing tricks with him now and then. Maybe that’s just showed he was growing older.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The princess said no word of objection against his plan, though her bodyguard – Kofi, if Flint guessed right – tried to. Flint explained and the man fell silent, but the princess wasn’t looking at either of them. Flint saw where her gaze was directed and looked at his charts again. The pang of something hot and ugly inside him still didn’t fade quickly. 

Then Billy suddenly interrupted and Flint felt something entirely else creeping inside him. He couldn’t name it properly; he just knew it was some kind of surmise, with a shade of mistrust and something else. Billy never came up with these kinds of plans, that involved others and he surely never looked at Silver with that strange glint in his eyes Flint had a hard time to notice and understand.

He wondered if Silver felt some resemblance of his suspicions too, but the latter seemed oblivious and a bit surprised by Billy’s suggestion. Then a smirk tugged the corner of his mouth and he looked at Billy, saying something that rendered Flint speechless for a long moment.

_One-legged creature_. He called himself a creature, not even a man, or, at least, “cripple” like Randall was named by some dumb passerby fucks when he sat his crutches on a beach. Truth be told, Flint didn’t give a shit about how his previous cook was referred to, but now, in this _particular_ case he very much did.

Others were silent too, as if struck by Silver’s words as hard as Flint was. But he knew it wasn’t like that. No one here knew what Silver felt now. No one knew how he struggled after loosing his leg, how hard it was for him. No one knew that now he didn’t even see himself as a man anymore.

No one. And Flint didn’t know too.

He was blind to it, wallowing in his own grief and suffering to really notice what happened to his Quartermaster, his partner, his-

He could only guess now and maybe let himself hope that one day Silver would let him understand the whole impact of tragedy he suffered after Charlestown. But now he was like a closed-up seashell, with no change of showing his true feelings to anyone.

Including his Captain, who was too dumb to notice them in the beginning. And now was too late. That’s why he shut his mouth, clenched his teeth and said no word of objection. He just couldn’t.

_You’re not a creature, you’re a man, you’re the best of us, you’re-_

Because Silver won’t believe him and it was Flint’s fault for not saying it sooner.

Silver still wore that smirk on his face, quickly considering Billy’s plan, as Flint could’ve guessed he did, judging by his face. Then he looked at him and Flint looked back. The sun shined through the cabin window again, casting a shadow on everyone else except the two of them.

Even when DeGroot came and Silver gave him an order Flint really paid no attention to, their eyes stayed locked as by some force. Maybe others waited for them to say something else; maybe they tried to understand why the Captain and Quartermaster fell silent suddenly, but Flint couldn’t care less. 

“I agree,” Vane abruptly said and that stillness broke. Flint blinked and looked at him, Silver, he noticed, mirrored him.

“Pardon?”

“If there’s gonna be some fight, that one,” Vane shrugged in Silver’s direction, “at least let him,” a nod towards Billy, “do the whole job.”

“We’re not planning to start a fight,” the bosun retorted, frowning at Vane. The latter just smirked at him:

“Not yet.”

“And what’s the point?” Flint raised his brow at the other Captain.

“At least he’d let other defend him,” Vane shrugged again, throwing quick glance at Silver, who looked at him with a confusion on his face even Flint could notice.

There definitely was a _hint_ in this whole speech and Flint guessed it right.

“I don’t need others to defend me if I’m going somewhere,” he pointed out, pursing his lips and hoping Vane wouldn’t press the matter.

“Yeah, I did it by my own volition,” Vane smirked again and this time Flint did frown at him but before he could’ve added something else, Silver’s voice interrupted their “lovely chat”.

“Did what?” he looked between two Captains, clearly not understanding the case of the topic, but starting to guess something was odd.

“Captain Vane, to put it simply, did me a favor,” Flint shrugged, trying to close this ridiculous issue once and for all, but, of-fucking-course, everyone decided not to agree with him today.

“I saved your life, to put it simply,” Vane snorted, lifting his eyebrows with an annoying incredulousness on his face.

“I had everything under control,” Flint retorted in unison with Silver’s “What?”.

“The Captain and the Blackbeard had an argument, which resulted in a fight,” Billy explained to Silver and Flint threw him A Look.

“Do we need to discuss it now?” he warned, meaning they have some more urgent tasks at hand, not to mention the present company of the princess and her bodyguard, who looked at them now with a strange expressions on their faces.

“Your Captain initiated it,” Vane reminded, openly smirking now and Flint almost felt all the shit he intended to spell at that moment falling from his lips, but Silver suddenly cut the whole topic off.

“There is no time for this now. Billy, make sure the launches are ready,” he looked at Kofi next, “gather the rest of your men, which would go with Madi ashore and get them ready,” the last line was for Madi and she nodded at him.

At last there were only Flint, Silver and Vane left in the captain’s cabin and the latter jumped off the table’s corner he currently occupied, nodded at them with a tug of his lips and walked away too. After the door closed Silver snapped his head in Flint’s direction.

“You did _what_?” he hissed in a hushed tone and Flint blinked in surprise.

“Why do you think I returned only with Vane and not with any other ship I intended to take with him? Or not with the Blackbeard himself?”

“You refused to go into details of your journey,” the last part Silver stressed out more loudly, then lowered his voice again. “You said, as I recall “ _Blackbeard disagreed and Vane agreed, that’s all._ ” You didn’t mention a fucking fight.”

“Did it matter?” Flint denied and Silver narrowed his eyes, the look of utter displeasure on his face hardening even more.

“The plan was for you to go and make allies, not getting yourself killed in the process. What’s the whole point in this war you want so hard to start and, even more, in the whole idea of reclaiming Nassau if you won’t be the one to do it?”

“No one killed me, I’m pretty much alive, you can poke me with your finger if you want,” Flint scoffed with a mock tease in his voice. That whole “give-and-take” started to get on his already tense nerve endings.

“I’m saying you were _reckless, Captain_ ,” Silver, it seemed, vividly remembered his own ability to mock and tease and, Flint admitted, did it successfully. “Or you just hope it would be another Charles Vane next time?”

“There won’t be _next time_ ,” Flint bumped his clenched fist in a table, with no real force, just to prove his point and accentuate his words. “Not like the previous one. I’ve no intention in duels anymore, if it’s something you want to hear from me. Satisfied?”

Silver regarded him with a contemplative look, not saying a word in return. Flint raised his brows at him and the Quartermaster nodded. Still not a word, though.

“I’m starting this war,” Flint pointed out again, when Silver was already near the door. “I’m going to reclaim Nassau and no one else would do what only I am capable to do.”

“This war,” Silver countered, with his back at him, “doesn’t concern me.”

Before Flint could say something in return he was out, closing the door with an audible _thud_. 

 

+++++++++++++

 

This time he was the one to stay on a ship and wait, and so he did, leaning on a rail and looking into the night. Nassau’s shore was… dark, with only occasional flicks of lanterns here and there. Nothing compared to burning bonfires, with its flames reaching for the starry sky and partly clothed or completely naked bodies, throwing themselves at each other in chorus of songs and wild music. Nothing compared to laughing, drinking pirates, claiming this place as their home, free of kings and orders.

Nassau curdled in waiting of her future and no one on the island knew what awaited them tomorrow.

Flint knew and he was determined to make this future into the present.

The shore party left a few hours ago and there was no point to stand on a deck and look nowhere in particular, so Flint returned to his cabin, lit the lanterns there and managed to grip the edge of his desk before the excruciating pain shot through him so hard he almost doubled over.

A choked grunt escaped him and the pain faded away only to return again. And again. After the third time the feeling vanished completely, leaving him gasping for breath in a shaking stupor. He felt this a long time ago, in Charlestown and it left him as quickly as that night.

He felt it not so long ago too – on the sand of Ocracoke, fighting Blackbeard and almost losing when this pain ripped his mind to shreds. Vane saved him when he lost his footing and by the time Flint raised on unsteady legs the pain was gone.

Every time he felt as if his heart would explode and every time it proceeded its steady and hard beating. He tried to wonder at first, then decided he doesn’t want to know. He thought of it as of some sort of punishment for loosing one person he should’ve been able to protect.

These sudden shocks of true agony started since Charlestown and despite Miranda leaving him forever, even in his mind, she didn’t take the pain with her. And so he would embrace it as an ugly reminder of his mistakes.

Nevertheless there was no time to dwell on these thoughts – DeGroot came, announcing the return of the shore party. Flint heard vague sounds of growing turmoil above deck and went to look for himself, almost colliding with Vane midway. The other captain’s face was grim and Flint wondered if it was panic, showing itself in his eyes. Vane jerked his chin ahead of the unspoken question:

“Not now. But there’s a problem.”

Flint nodded towards the cabin:

“I’ll check on the men and we’ll discuss it.”

The men in question were crowded below deck, Dooley in the center of a wide circle, flailing his hands, stomping his feet and telling them- 

Telling them something Flint didn’t expect to hear.

The princess watched them too, her arms crossed, her gaze never leaving the crowd. Flint knew she was there too, yet he asked anyway. She looked at him and nodded, bit her lip, lowered her gaze. He had no idea how she felt but could’ve guessed: it was something close to nervousness, written on her face.

“Where is he?” was his only question and after a few moments he was below deck too, in Howell’s quarters, where the dull yellow light of the lanterns casted unreal shadows, where every corner whispered something to him he had no mind to listen to.

And Silver was there, illuminated by this light, its golden flicks making his skin nearly glowing. Shadows lurked around him, but not a single one dared to crawl closer, as if in fear of being chased away by something Flint couldn’t name.

He felt strange, having thoughts like these. But most of all he felt pain – not so severe as before, but ever-present and cruel. Silver felt that one too – admitted that himself – breathing hard and deep, closing his eyes, maybe even missing the moment Flint asked Howell and the doctor’s new maroon assistant to leave them alone.

And they were left alone, with shadows surrounding them and the yellow light to chase those away.

Silver barely looked at him, while saying things that set a heavy weight inside Flint, but at the end their eyes at last met.

“How good it feels,” Silver whispered and only then Flint saw every emotion he tried so hard to suppress since his return from the shore in a plain sight.

There was rage, when his blow threw Dufresne to the ground. A cold, burning wrath, eating at him from the inside, opening up all the barriers he built for so long and Flint stood and watched, as if this scene was happening again, just for him to see.

And he felt all of it too. But not at the man before him and sure as fuck not at that bastard whose skull was crushed to bloody pieces just like he deserved. No. It was _it_ he was enraged of. That pitch-black nothingness he nurtured all these years inside himself. He nourished it, _fed it_ , gave it everything he was capable of sacrificing and even more and yet now it craved something he never imagined he’d have to give.

Someone.

And this – _it_ – was his own hell, his own burden. Not Silver’s. He didn’t belong in this abyss, in this screaming dark mess, where Flint’s soul was hiding all this time. He shouldn’t have been feeling those feelings he felt already and, seeing an open raw fear on his face, Flint felt a stone-cold confidence that, if needed, he’d destroy it to nothing. He’d make everything damn possible to make sure that its claws won’t touch this man ever again.

Because _that_ sacrifice he wasn’t intended to make.

He still felt those eyes on him, still saw this despair on Silver’s face when he looked back and that pain still was there too. But Silver was the one to spoke first.

“Where are you?” in that soft voice, just like an eternity – or not? – ago, in a cage, saving him from the abyss he was submerging with every new breath. Taking him out of it, despite being the one, whom that abyss tried to swallow in replacement.

The pain was hard, growing with every passing moment, yet it couldn’t have been heard in his voice, when he answered “I’m here” and it faded away the instant those words were said.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Canon Divergence part - I decided not to kill Vane, though Nassau's revolution will surely start even without his death.  
> Anyway the chapter came up super-long and I decided to split it in two. That's the first part, and the second will be published next, soon.  
> Thank you for wonderful support! I really appreciate that!

The brougham fell with a loud crash, horse high-pitching neighing and human screams following immediately after. The soldiers fell more silently, though, despite trying to overpower them with guns and blades. Nothing helps and soon there were bodies on the ground, silent, unmoving, dead.

Flint couldn’t care less, attaching his own blade to the belt and rushing towards the brougham. Rackham, apparently, was alive, but bruised and chained. Vane and Bonny took the cache and gave it to him and Billy, returning to the task of cutting the damn chain off its groove.

Flint knew it would take too much time to free Rackham and they were running short of it already. Billy was looking around alarmingly, searching for any signs of approaching soldiers. Flint, though, knew there was Rogers here. They haven’t seen him since the brougham crashed and he wasn’t among the bodies either.

Which meant the bullet would strike from any direction.

“You need to go!” Vane shouted at him, still trying to break the damn chain. Flint looked at him and Vane, obviously sensing something in the following silence, looked back.

“We’ll be right behind you,” he added, baring his teeth in an effort to make the chain give out. It didn’t.

Something was wrong. Flint felt some kind of anticipation creeping inside his gut. He didn’t like it, nor did he like Vane’s suggestion.

“Captain, he’s right!” Billy looked around again, Flint saw him twitching nervously. The situation they were in could’ve gone worse in mere seconds. “We need to go!”

“Take the cache and fucking go already!” Vane cursed, obviously sick and tired of his failed attempts to free his former Quartermaster.

Flint looked down – there were broken pieces of a brougham falling under his feet. There were bodies under his feet too. He wasn’t intended to add another. That’s why he picked some piece that vaguely resembled an iron rod and drove it right in the spot where the chain was attached.

“Pull,” he demanded and there must have been something in his voice or in his eyes because neither Vane nor Bonny said any word to it. They pulled and pushed, all three of them, and Rackham, as much as he was able to, tugged at the chain, till their fingers turned almost numb with pain.

It fell with a clang and they hurriedly pulled Rackham out. That was the moment the British soldiers appeared again, together with their governor. Flint saw him first and their eyes met. Rogers face was bruised too and all the fake politeness and smoothness he showed him on that beach not too long ago were gone.

They maddening gallop was bringing them closer and closer to the beach, but the pursuers managed to keep up and that meant only one thing: someone should stay and take the first blow, while the others save the cache and themselves apparently.

What they needed now was a literal sacrifice and by no means had Flint known who would that be. He could’ve stopped his own horse and engage in a fight, holding the British up as long as possible. But one man wouldn’t stand too long and he’d get killed eventually.

The time when he’d welcomed approaching death was long past.

Just like that there was sand under horse feet suddenly. He jumped off the saddle, whirling back just in time to see soldiers with drawn swords, preparing for the attack… just to crumble to the ground right at that moment, in chorus of few loud shots.

There were boats on the beach too, currently occupied by his crew, with guns and riffles pointed right in the direction of Governor’s men. Rogers shouted something and they quickly retreated back, though two of his men fell all the same, with bullets in their sculls.

Flint hurried to the boats, all thoughts about what the actual fuck his men – and more importantly the _Walrus_ right in front of his eyes – were doing here, when he gave them an order to follow DeGroot’s idea and stay the hell back left for later. He had a vague and not overly pleasant suspicion about the matter, but decided to sort this out on a ship.

“It’s Hornigold,” Silver all but blurted in his face right the moment Flint stepped on a deck and barely managed to open his own mouth.

“What?”

“He found us, I don’t know how and Mr. DeGroot, it seems, at loss too,” Silver nodded towards the horizon where the other ship could be quickly spotted. “Anyway, we couldn’t stay on that same spot any longer and I ordered to pick the shore party up.”

He glanced towards the Ranger trio and Billy’s attempts to move the cache below deck with the help of others.

“Right on time, it seems,” he added thoughtfully.

“Thank you,” Flint noted absentmindedly, stepping closer to the rails and looking closely at Hornigold’s ship. It was still a mere dot just on the horizon, but they needed to move and quickly, before this “dot” could actually move too close and attack them.

When he turned, moving towards his cabin, the look on Silver’s face was priceless. He was looking at him incredulously, with a quirked brow and Flint was taken aback for a moment.

“Something’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Silver echoed, lifting both of his brows this time. “Ah. No, actually. No,” he quickly shook his head and moved aside. Flint regarded him again for a moment, then moved towards his quarters. The gaze on his spine made him feel strangely warm, but he managed not to turn back. He wasn’t sure about the expression on his face.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Two plans. Two stupid plans less than in an hour and Flint agreed to both.

Billy was the first one to speak when they quickly gathered in Captain’s quarters and suggested he take a few men and… return to Nassau. To “test the waters” there. To see what people think, how they listen to the Governor and make some addings to the current situation. He mentioned that his parents were propagandists, which Flint knew already, and it was the time he’d try and use his skills he undoubtedly learned from them.

Silver said it was an interesting idea and looked at Flint, surely waiting for his answer. It seemed the Quartermaster openly showed that in this case the Captain’s decision would be the main one.

The plan was good. Too good, actually, and that’s why Flint didn’t like it at all. But to decline it based on these thoughts would be stupid, besides Billy actually offered it in the presence of the Ranger trio and Madi and it was a very wise decision of his to do. That’s why Flint didn’t like this plan even more.

He agreed eventually and Billy quickly left to gather men and sail towards Nassau shore before Hornigold could’ve spotted the boats leaving the ship.

Silver’s plan was next and it was neither good nor, actually, sane, but in the absence of the other suggestions Flint decided to stick to it. Though, he approved it aloud and even felt a pang of guilt, seeing how Silver’s face lit up after his words.

Mr. DeGroot opened his mouth right after he heard and actual _strategy_ , but quickly closed it under Flint’s gaze, returning grumpily towards men and shouting commands just a bit too loud than necessary. Vane and Bonny took Rackham to Howell, Madi stayed in captain’s quarters (under Flint’s direct order, considering there was a real danger running them down) and Silver was beside him, gripping the rails and looking rather nervous.

The real chasing began only after an hour or so, but Silver still stayed as if glued to the spot, barely saying anything and hovering closer to Flint with every ship’s sway. It felt good, to have him this close, to feel his presence just mere inches away from his own body. It gave him that feeling he rarely felt these days – comfort. He was relaxed, despite the whole situation they were in, though, he knew his task well and stayed focused on it as much as possible.

The warmth, though, was still there. Maybe that’s why he barely minded hard glares DeGroot was throwing towards him every passing minute; maybe that’s why he chose to show a quick grimace instead of speaking, when Silver actually questioned his own plan. And that’s why he, glancing towards Silver’s panicked face, just shrugged and told him they didn’t have better plan for this, so they just needed to give this one a try.

He intended to calm him, but, judging from an open unease now clear in Silver’s eyes, utterly failed. DeGroot appeared again, though, and all other words Flint wanted to add, died immediately. Now were the most important minutes. Their lives were at stake.

The _Walrus_ gave a powerful lurch, the crew quickly grabbing all the possible surfaces, their eyes and faces alarmed, their mouths sealed shut. Some yelped or cursed when the ship lurched again, but aside from that they just looked at Flint and waited.

His face betrayed nothing and he knew it, yet when the plan actually worked and he saw Hornigold’s ship quickly retreating back, he let a barely audible sigh escape his mouth. Then someone moved closer and he felt that warmth beside him again. He met Silver’s gaze and saw the overwhelmed amount of awe and even admiration in his blue eyes.

The feeling was… strange. As though his heart just sank in his gut and exploded there in million burning pieces, making him hot all over. Silver hardly knew what this look of utter delight on his face made to his insides and Flint felt a sudden mad urge to say it aloud. To touch him, even for a moment, and tell him.

 _I’d do it again. And again. I’ll come up with every plan of yours, even if it would mean I’d have to-_

“I need to improve my sailing skills,” Silver joked, smirk tugging at his mouth and Flint felt his own chuckle reverberate through him.

“Mr. DeGroot would be willing to help you; no doubt to be sure you won’t suggest something like that again.”

“Why, Captain?” Silver suddenly smiled openly at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his teeth flashing in a bright grin. “I was hoping for some actual lessons from you.”

That rendered Flint speechless for a moment. He never thought that Silver would consider something like that an option. _Lessons_. This man was intended to actually kill him.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, as impassive as possible. Silver cocked his head to the side, his grin turning softer somehow, in an actual smile. Flint felt so warm, as though someone wrapped him in a fine blanket.

“Thank you,” he said and it was as soft as the look in his eyes. Flint wanted to stop this moment, to make it eternal, because that softness rarely was in Silver’s features now.

“What for?” he wondered, his voice soft too. Maybe he was afraid to speak loudly and break this moment he wanted to cherish as long as possible.

“I don’t know,” Silver chuckled, shrugging, shifting from one side to another, because of his leg, maybe. “Why did you thank me, when you returned with the cache?”

“You brought the _Walrus_ right on time,” Flint answered like it was an obvious thing. It was.

“I didn’t wait for your signal, though,” Silver pointed out. “Hornigold could’ve caught us in the middle of sailing to the shore.”

“Yet you came,” Flint pointed out too and Silver met his gaze again. “Would you have done otherwise, even without the threat of Hornigold’s ship?”

 _Would you’ve disobeyed my order again and brought the Walrus even before the signal was given?_

“I’d still come,” Silver answered, in that soft voice of his, their eyes locked as if by force.

Flint’s throat was tight. 

His chest too.

“Good,” the short nod was everything he was capable of at the moment. Silver nodded too, as if mirroring him and looked at the horizon again. Hornigold’s ship turned to a simple dark dot already.

They watched it disappearing, silently staying close to each other. The warmth hugged Flint like a lover’s embrace, offering comfort and peace, even for now. He placed his hand on the rail, right beside Silver’s, and knew it would took only a small movement from him for their fingers to brush.

They didn’t. 

 

+++++++++++++

 

When they dropped the anchor and returned to the camp it buzzed with energy even from the distance: everyone were preparing for the fight that would happen eventually. Flint knew the British would come. He did everything possible for them to come here and face their death. He knew the fight would be brutal and bloody; people were going to die and after that the camp won’t be a hidden place anymore at all.

But it was a necessary, inevitable sacrifice in order to achieve bigger goal in the future. The Queen understood him, when he explained his plan. Her face betrayed her inner turmoil, a hard choice she knew she’d have to make and still she made it, placing fates of her island, her men and women, her daughter’s and her own in his hands.

The stakes was high and he knew it probably more than anyone. But one thing was an undoubted truth for him even before the actual fight began: the day when British would come, they die. This day would be his and no way in hell would he allow England have her victory.

Though there was a weak point in the whole strategy. The ship. With only _Walrus_ as their main attacking vessel there was a zero chance of stopping the ships the Governor would undoubtedly sent to outnumber them. And that was where Vane made his sudden proposition, even before they dropped the anchor in the island’s bay.

“I’ll bring Blackbeard here,” he suggested in a voice that left no place for arguments.

Flint, Silver, Rackham and Bonny looked at him with different expressions on their faces, but, as Flint guessed, shared same thoughts of the matter.

“You do understand he may not listen to you,” Flint pointed out, raising his brow at him, but Vane shook his head stubbornly.

“He’s gonna listen to what I say this time.”

“What if he’ll not?” there was an open alarm on Rackham’s face, which was still covered in slowly healing bruises. “What if it’ll end in him fighting you? Or-”

“I’ll be fine, Jack,” Vane interrupted his panicked rambling, the corner of his mouth tugging in a familiar smirk. “Though you two,” he nodded towards him and Bonny “will stay here, just in case.”

“In case we’ll not be engaged in your fight with him?” Bonny croaked, openly scowling at him.

Vane just shrugged, closing the topic completely. Silver looked at Flint sideways, raised a brow, but didn’t say a word, though the implication was clear.

 _He may die and we may loose a skilled fighter and, moreover, a skilled Captain when we need one hugely. But it’s his choice and if he’ll really bring Blackbeard with him-_

Flint felt as though these exact thought were echoed in his brain, but, of course, it was just his assumption of what would Silver say.

Vane was a grown-up man and they were in no position to forbid him something, that’s why after they dropped the anchor, the Maroon Queen, under Flint’s request, handed over their single yawl and Vane departed. Flint just hoped his plan would work, though he doubted it would be easy to convince Blackbeard, after their previous “parting”.

Suddenly he was distracted by the Queen again, when she noticed the poor state one of her men was in. Flint recalled Silver telling him about it, when they still were aboard, but thought the matter was closed once and for all. Judging by strange and quick glances his Quartermaster exchanged with Madi and her hastily smooth response Flint didn’t quite see the whole picture.

After the women left Silver explained everything more thoroughly, leaving Flint speechless and baffled at the end. The Quartermaster haven’t noticed anything, or pretended not to, gave him a reassuring smile and left for the camp. Flint, on the over hand, found himself standing too long with his lips parted in a rather disturbing state of surprise.

They needed to speak and the sooner he’ll initiate an actual conversation the better. Though, entering the camp, he saw that people started to gather in small groups, ending all the commotion and speaking to each other in hushed tones. All of the faces held looks of utter sorrow, all glances were locked on a hut where Mr. Scott was laying.

They waited for inevitable to happen and, if these gatherings were of any indication, the time has come. The Queen and her daughter entered the hut and Flint spotted Silver sitting nearby their own “pirate quarters” on a wooden bench, which gave him a perfect view of Mr. Scott’s hut. Their crew settled down nearby, Rackham and Bonny among them, and Flint, moving past them, sat beside Silver with a soft sigh.

When the talking began Flint purposely kept his voice low, a tad louder than a whisper, his tone soft and low, rumbling in his chest with every spilled syllable. His words, however, were something entirely else. They made Silver give him a fleeting smile at first, then made his face loose all the relaxed features, transforming into intense gaze and a clench of his jaw. They made him breathe a little quicker, Flint noticed that almost against his own will. They made him look only in his eyes, everyone around them forgotten, this startling belonging in that moment only to him.

 _Only his, for a small moment of forever._

A warning or welcome – he honestly, didn’t have the answer himself. To let the darkness consume the man beside him – he’d never allow that to happen. Though, knowing that his own mind was in that pitch-black far too long to escape now, Flint couldn’t help the thoughts of their inevitable parting in order to let Silver be free from the hollow breath of that abyss inside Flint, that where calling to him now too.

The thought of never seeing him again was too much to bear. Yet if there were no other way, then-

Then the sound of a horn came and everyone looked to the Mr. Scott’s hut again. People started to cry, someone embraced, someone was just sitting on the ground, grabbing their head with both hands, gently rocking back and forth. Everyone knew what that sound meant.

Flint saw the Queen and Madi again; they both were too far away to actually see what was written on their faces. He didn’t need to know, anyway, because he could’ve guessed already. From the corner of his eyes he saw Silver closing his eyes for a moment and shaking his head.

“He was a good man,” Flint heard his soft whisper and slowly nodded.

“He truly was.”

“That’s a harsh blow to them both,” the Quartermaster’s eyes were now locked on a Queen and her daughter, which were currently surrounded by their people. There were no screams or any other loud sounds from that small circle, but the condolences were said and hands were held, Flint was sure about that.

“It is,” he echoed, his thought bringing him painful memories he wasn’t prepared for now. “It hurts every time. Even more so when you realize your own inability to change something, to affect the past and make it bend to your will.”

Silver was watching him again, he felt it by the returning warmth, but he couldn’t look back. Not this time, when his mind was filled with these images he had any strength to bear again.

“At times like these,” he heard himself saying suddenly, through the hot lump in his throat, “you need someone else. Someone who knows your pain, but not affected by it like you are. Someone who can just be there for you, even like a silent figure beside.”

The words escaped in exact time with the princess – she broke away from her mother’s hands, from the crowd itself, and quickly left. No one went after her, though their heads turned, when she passed by; they understood the pain she felt that moment and held a great amount of respect to her need to be alone right now.

Flint maybe was the only one who knew she needed something entirely opposite.

 _Can you read my mind?_ he felt himself silently asking. _Can you understand what I’m saying?_

Silver sat still, looking ahead and not saying a word. Not answering. He couldn’t, though, he wasn’t capable of such stupid things.

Even if Flint wanted him too.

And when, after a long time, he began to rise, Flint still wanted him to. Because in that case he’d be able to hear everything that he couldn’t say to him aloud. Every word to make him stop and not go anywhere. Because that awful burning feeling inside him was telling Flint that this was an exact moment for princess to turn to him. To accept him. To open her arms, her body and her heart to him.

To say his name and have everything Flint was unable to have neither with Thomas and Miranda, nor with someone else.

He sat there, looking at his own hands that gripped the bench till it hurt. He waited for the inevitable to happen. He waited for Silver to return and see _her_ Name on his hand. He waited for Madi to return too with Spiral on her own hand.

His own hand burned with fire, but his whole body did too, so he barely noticed the difference.


	16. Chapter 16

The shovel dug in the ground with too much force than needed and Flint grimaced, yanking it back. Light from the lantern caught his eyes and he turned his head away for a second, his gaze immediately landing on Silver again. Rackham was currently snatching a bottle of rum from his hands – for the third time – and taking a long sip. His face betrayed nothing except amusement and lighthearted smile, but Flint knew he was still worried about Vane.

Three days and still no trace of him or the Blackbeard. Though Flint believed that sooner or later at least one of them would come. Preferably, both, but waiting was unnerving, this couldn’t be denied.

“Still no news?” Flint questioned again, even if he knew the answer beforehand. Otherwise Rackham would’ve already announced his Captain’s return.

Rackham just shrugged in a mock attempt to seem casual and unbothered. The crease between his brows and fingers, that clenched bottle a tad too strongly spoke for him.

“It’s possible he managed to persuade Blackbeard,” Silver added thoughtfully, “and I assume to bring six ships here altogether would be a harder task than returning with a single ship. Isn’t that right?”

The latter was addressed to Flint and he felt his mouth tugging in a lopsided grin at his Quartermaster’s attempt to calm Rackham even a little. It won’t do them any good to have an overly-nervous ally exhaust himself with worry even before the actual battle begins. If Vane won’t return eventually Flint had an already formed plan to place Rackham on the ship and let him lead the battle in the sea.

Rackham gave his own smirk in return, looking at Silver with something resembling gratitude on his face, though Flint didn’t watch closely, distracting himself now and then with his more important task.

Eventually Rackham left and they stayed together in the dark, illuminated only by the small lantern. Flint caught a thoughtful glance Silver threw at the cache and stopped for a moment, giving himself a little rest at the same time.

“Having second thoughts?”

Silver smiled at him, mirroring the teasing grin Flint was wearing. He knew the gold wasn’t a priority for his Quartermaster anymore. It was the crew now – their needs and well-being. Maybe even his own too. They were partners now and Flint hoped it gave Silver enough reason to give even a little shit about whether he’d live or die.

Especially in light of the upcoming events.

Silver, meanwhile, made himself comfortable on a tree trunk beside him; Flint watched his movements, how he placed his leg, how his face held no hint of discomfort and felt a need to ask:

“Does it still hurt?”

That made Silver look at his leg, reflexively rubbing knee with his palm.

“It always does,” he admitted and met Flint’s gaze with an open honesty there, which was a rare emotion he would show, when it came to talking about his leg. “Though Howell says it’s slowly healing, partially thanks to that salve Madi’s doctor made for me.”

A brief mention of her name made Flint’s eyes snap to Silver’s wrists, almost involuntarily. They were clear and the same as always. As Madi’s did too. He still couldn’t let himself think about that. Though it was possible Madi, undoubtedly crying her lungs out that day, just didn’t think of saying his name. Or decided to wait for the battle to actually be over and pick a more suitable time. Of course, it could be an opposite thought in this case: to say his name before the battle, in a vague fear of never been able to do it after it, should he be among of those ones who’d eventually die that day.

 _That_ particular thought crossed Flint’s mind too and _that’s_ why he made up his mind already about Silver’s location during the battle. The Quartermaster may not like it, he suspected as much, but that won’t change his decision even in the slightest.

Still the thought about Madi saying Silver’s name already and nothing happening haunted him in his dreams almost as much as the images of a Spiral and a Name on their wrists. It was possible for Silver and Madi to have a deep and strong connection to each other, _without_ them being a Soulmates actually. Though still this meant nothing in his case, because he and Silver would never be as close to each other as he and Madi may eventually become.

Flint caught them speaking to each other quiet often, but, aside from that, nothing else happened. Not that he looked too close to catch a start of _actual relationships_ between them. He’d let them have their moments without interruption. The men, on the other hand, were overly interested in their Quartermaster’s potential affair with Maroon’s princess. Not once Flint caught their whispers – not at all hushed, damn these fucking pirates – and ramblings and even fucking bets on the matter.

Silver didn’t try to stop them, nor did he comment their interest in his personal matter. Somehow, he looked as though he had no intention of making his relationship with Madi into something more than a simple friendship.

It didn’t make Flint’s heart skip a beat every time that thought appeared in his mind. Not at all.

“He told me the same,” he agreed matter-of-factly, digging the shovel in the ground again.

“Really? You asked him about it?” Silver cocked his head to the side. “When?”

“Is it so rare for me to ask my crew’s doctor about something?” Flint lifted his brows, a little surprised by there questions.

Silver gave a sudden snort at that and Flint stopped again, looking at him.

“You barely go to him even when _you’re_ in need of a check, actually, so yes, it’s definitely rare.”

“He checked on me after my fight with Blackbeard,” Flint grumbled defensively, feeling himself like a scolded child. He was a grown man, for fuck’s sake!

“You mean, when _Captain Vane_ actually dragged him into your cabin, the day after?” Silver corrected him, lifting his own brow, clearly not impressed by Flint’s words at all.

“How the fuck you know that?” he bristled, suddenly feeling stupid and irritated in mere seconds.

“I asked Captain Vane for the actual details,” the smug bastard replied, looking at him disapprovingly. Flint felt needles prickling at his skin and clenched his jaw. “He was oh too willing to tell me about everything that happened on the Ocracoke and after. Of course I asked Howell too.”

“I’m not some reckless brat who needs supervision, just so you know,” Flint threatened, resuming his digging with such force that his muscles screamed in protest.

“Oh, believe me, I know it very well,” was Silver’s response and Flint straightened again, looking at him with narrowed eyes. It sure as hell was sarcasm in his voice, but the look his Quartermaster gave him was filled with innocence.

 _Who, me?_ his blue eyes asked, open and honest. No way would Flint believe this look of utter virtue on his beautiful face.

Fuck. It didn’t help at all, knowing that Silver’s face was beautiful, as well as his body, his mind and everything el-

 _Fuck._

The balls of soil was now almost flying under his movements, the shovel creaking in protest, not to mention his already aching hands. Flint felt like an idiot, which happened to him even rarely than doctor’s checks. And the whole source of this unpleasant realization was sitting nearby, not impressed by his grumbling at all and, moreover, opening his mouth again and saying-

Was he actually saying that Flint was some sort of a witch to create a storm and then luring them into it?

He hoped all the unspoken words he had in mind after hearing this idiocy were clearly written on his face. Silver sighed and admitted that yes, he was malnourished (“Oh, really?”) and dehydrated (“What an actual surprise!”), that’s why he regretted thinking that way back then.

But then. Then he suddenly stood and approached him from behind. Flint felt his gaze without looking back – penetrating, intense, _warm_. 

_Will you tell me?_ He asked, his voice so soft, almost delicate. Flint wanted to turn and look at him. Wanted to see what was in those eyes of his, what emotion was written on his face in that moment. Was he simply curious or something more? Did he know that no one – not even Gates or Eleanor – knew the real truth behind the Captain Flint’s name? Or that it wasn’t his real one at all?

Rogers talked to him about past – about pardons – as if he already knew. But he didn’t. When they sailed to Charlestown, all those months ago, Miranda confessed that she, driven by some desperate urge to have someone who’d actually listen, told part of the story – not digging in deep, though – to Pastor Lambrick. Maybe the latter shared it with Eleanor, either when she still was in Nassau or later, when she returned as Governor’s companion. Though, honestly Flint couldn’t care less.

No one knew the actual truth. No one dared to ask.

 _I will_ , he thought. _You’re the only one that needs to know._

He stuck the shovel in the ground, not really paying attention whether it would fall afterwards or not. He felt nervous all over, every part of his body drumming with such intensity, as though before his very first sailing. Was it anticipation or, quite the opposite, dread – he didn’t know. All he could think of was Silver, now sitting again, looking at him with steady, calm expression. Not saying another word, not pressing the matter, just allowing him to decide – _to have a choice_ – whether he’d spill the truth or not.

He’d tell him everything; lay himself bare before this man, opening his chest and letting him look inside. See every tiny part, even the ugliest ones, and Flint – anticipating it, without any thought to struggle through it – could only have one tiny hope that it won’t drive away the only one person that mattered to him now.

“That name you wish to know,” he started, clasping his hands, leaning elbows on his knees, his eyes down, on a flame from the small fire he started (but he couldn’t even remember when). “It’s linked to Miranda’s as much as to my own.”

He let his eyes slip closed for a fleeting moment, then opened them again and this time looked Silver right in the face.

“His name was Thomas Hamilton,” he said and nothing happened. The world didn’t collapse around him; the ground didn’t open to swallow him. There neither a roar of a thunder above him nor rain breaking free from the sky on him.

There was only silence, disturbed by their breathing and the crackle of the scutch between them. Flint looked at Silver again and saw him ponder these words carefully, curiosity slowly showing on his face. He looked at Flint too, cocked his head to the side, but said nothing in return.

He waited and wondered if he was allowed to know more.

He was.

Just like that it was as if a seawall inside him broke. Word came freely, openly, he spilled everything aloud, opening himself up, letting Silver know everything that was before Nassau. Even before Captain Flint himself. He told him about Miranda, Thomas, Admiral Hennessy, Alfred Hamilton, Peter Ashe. His own childhood, his years in the Navy, his thoughts about the pardons, his feelings for two wonderful people, whose Bond he broke.

“They had this Bond they shared that no one should’ve interrupted, yet I did,” he confessed, gaze locked on his own fingers, dirty with soil, calloused, with blue veins like a rivers under his skin. “They still welcomed me, but it was a mistake, I understand it now, so maybe that’s why everything ended that way.”

The look on Silver’s face held no curiosity now. There was a deep sadness in his eyes, and Flint hated that he was the cause of it; even though Silver specifically asked to know his past, undoubtedly guessing that the story won’t be pleasant at all. Yet seeing him in this state of sorrow – of pity for him – Flint couldn’t help but think that it still was his own fault to let Silver share his burden even for a night.

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t offended by Silver’s next words, which came after he said that he was genuinely sorry. He heard him talking about the pattern, about his actual worries of what may happen in the future and couldn’t help, but deep down agree that it may really turn out like that.

Silver assumed they were friends and, despite Flint’s feelings for him, he was actually surprised that his Quartermaster saw them in that way. Not just as partners, but sharing something stronger, maybe even better than a simple partnership. It was as good as it was hard to hear, letting him understand once again that they’d never be _more._

That he’d never dare them to become something more, even if he knew it already.

The silence grew between them – an uneasy, hard one – and Silver changed the topic, smoothly, as only he was capable of. Though this actual topic left Flint almost speechless with bewilderment. They talked about the crew – about _Dobbs_ , for fuck’s sake – and Flint let himself wonder for a moment whether his Quartermaster lost his mind.

They argued a moment or so like that until Silver explained to him everything from an opposite side. Until he actually confirmed that this plan was insane, yes, as much as it was thought-out quite well. In this case he had no other choice than to agree, still feeling doubtful – couldn’t help it.

Silver saw his inner turmoil, as he did that not once before and his next words made Flint loose all his thoughts about the concerning case.

“Trust me.”

He was so serious – his eyes suddenly held so power in them – Flint felt himself helpless under this gaze. He trusted him in this matter. Maybe in every other too.

“I hope we won’t regret it,” he sighed his defeat and took a sip from rum. It was warm, heated by the fire, and burned Flint’s throat a bit too harder than ever.

“We won’t,” Silver assured, an open eagerness and confidence could be heard in his voice. “But if you still have your concerns I can suggest making sure Dobbs will fulfill his task definitely.”

He knew where this was going and decided to reveal everything now – to sort things out and be clear before the actual battle.

“You’ll stay in the camp and defend our rearguard. You can pick anyone from the crew to stay there too, if you wish.”

He waited for the inevitable reaction, but was surprised when Silver only let out a deep exhale.

“Is it because of my-”

“It’s not because of your leg,” Flint shook his head and Silver cocked his head to the side again. “It’s because I thought it would be better to let you lead our forces in the camp. There’s no one else I can trust to watch our backs more than you.”

There was silence after that again. Flint saw the look Silver gave him – confusion, surprise, almost shock – like he couldn’t actually believe in words he heard less than a few seconds ago.

“I’ll do it,” he said at last, not looking away from Flint’s eyes. His gaze was so intense and the color of them so vivid in the darkness, Flint almost thought it wasn’t actually possible. Almost. “But give me your word.”

“What is it?” Flint wondered, leaning forward, an involuntarily move. Like he wanted to step through the flame, oblivious of its harsh bite, and find himself close to this man. To cross that fucking bridge that still separated them.

He made no attempt to stand, though.

“Don’t die there,” Silver simply asked, making Flint falter with his own answer for a moment.

“Of course,” he shrugged, like it was obvious. “There are way more battles in the future I intend to be a part of.”

Silver nodded at that, with no other word, though, that sadness returned to his eyes again and Flint couldn’t understand why. He could’ve asked him, but his throat felt too tight all of sudden, as though it wasn’t his own anymore, listening to someone else’s will.

Fire cracked between them and silence grew – so thick and crushing Flint felt he couldn’t bear it anymore. His lips parted, but no sound came.

“I won’t,” he whispered at last, with no actual thought behind it.

But Silver understood. He always did.

“Good,” was his soft response and the silence fell again. It didn’t crush them with its weight this time. 

Then silence came again, but this time, somehow, it didn’t felt like it at all.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Hornigold was choking on blood, his body shaking, eyes wide. There was no trace of fear in them, Flint thought, looking at the dying man. There was no pity for this man in him either.

War took its share. She drank blood, ate flesh, spitting the remnants on a dirty ground: lifeless, broken, bloody pieces which not so long ago were breathing and hoping to see another day.

He wasn’t one of them – he could have been, but he was alive. He fought to stay alive. He _wanted to_.

He had a promise to keep up to.

Maybe they – those dead ones among him – had their own promises. Maybe not. He couldn’t care less. There was only one he cared for and he fulfilled it. He only needed to go now and prove that he did it.

Something waited for him there, just behind the trees and small lake. He blinked away droplets of sweat, making their way into his eyes, burning them with hot salt. As if the world that burned with color and a fire, that licked his body, weren’t enough.

His men were still screaming somewhere far ahead, chasing after those British who tried to escape. Even before the battle Flint told his men to let someone go. They needed to deliver his message to their Governor. And then, those who’ll stay alive after final battle would deliver his message to their King. He’d made sure the latter will receive it.

Water splashed beneath his feet and he stopped at the lake, gazing ahead, where the camp was slowly rising again. Where was not a single one British man alive – everyone died under wooden walls.

Where stood only one man, alive and unscathed, and looked back, because Flint’s eyes were locked only on him. Then he moved. And Flint moved too. Their legs – three and a half of them – brought them askance the lake, closer and closer to-

Suddenly the lake was no longer there, only solid ground, but Flint barely noticed those changes, when all he could stare at was right in front of him.

He saw Silver’s eyes roam quickly across his face, saw his mouth open, but it was his own voice they both heard the moment after.

“I didn’t. I’m alive.”

Silver obviously stiffened, snapping his gaze back at him. He breathed a bit too quickly than necessary and there was nothing else except worry and deep concern on his face. Flint saw his eyes locking on splatters of blood his body and clothes were painted with and interrupted before Silver could say a word:

“Not mine. The British’s. Hornigold’s. Not mine.”

The words were more like short and blunt gasps, but he didn’t care. Not when he noticed, as if in some kind of slow motion, Silver’s face loosing that traces of deep concern and relax, just a little bit.

“I’ll get you in doctor’s hut,” he suddenly gripped his elbow and Flint felt a huge wave of fire engulfing him completely. For a moment he couldn’t even breathe, just looked at Silver with wide eyes.

“Captain?” there was now an open alarm on his Quartermaster’s face. He inched closer, frantically searching for any signs of grave injury on him.

How he actually understood, what he tried to find? He couldn’t read Silver’s thoughts, how in the world he understood all those emotions his Quartermaster was feeling now?

“How are you doing it?” he whispered, when his throat didn’t feel like on fire anymore. That burn inside him shrinked in a tight ball between ribs.

“Come on, you need a doctor,” Silver protested, tugging at him now. Flint felt himself take one step forward, then another, then he was moving after him, like on a rope. Like chained to him.

He wouldn’t mind for it to be like that.

He became aware of his surroundings only after they entered doctor’s hut. There were dozens of bunks, filled with men – young men, old men. Someone was moaning, someone cried, someone lay still, like a corpse, pale and unmoving. Maybe a corpse already.

Silver brought him in a secluded area, divided from main quarters by a large piece of hanging cloth. Flint’s knees bumped in a bunk’s corner, he sat heavily and closed his eyes. Hell, he _was_ tired.

“I’m not hurt,” he protested though, rather weakly, when doctor came in and quickly tried to remove his shirt.

“Lift your hands,” Silver ordered, his voice grim and strict, tugging at the bloodied hem of his shirt with such persistence, that Flint felt himself obeying without second thought.

Doctor quickly started spreading some salve on his bare shoulders. It was cool and smelled like herbs, though which ones Flint had no idea. He felt the tension in him slowly fading away, his eyelids heavy, his head clear from all the thou-

A sharp sting made him wince and jerk away, snapping his eyes open. Doctor touched his spine, just beneath shoulder blade and he hissed involuntarily, muscles tight and body drawn taut from sudden pain.

“It seems you’re hurt enough,” Silver commented, his tone dry but worried. Flint narrowed his eyes at him – not because he was angry, but because it became harder and harder to keep them wide open.

Only then he noticed his matted hair, powdered with dust and- was it even tiny flinders of wood in dark curls? His hand moved on its own will and Flint found himself brushing those small pieces of wood away. Silver sucked in a breath and stopped moving altogether, only looking at him with wide eyes. Something was there, in that crystalline blue. Something so important, so plain and simple.

Flint let his hand fall in his lap, the pads of fingers prickling with needles. He barely felt those curls, barely touched them. He couldn’t even tell if they were as soft as they looked – the movement was too quick, to minor to actually feel something he wanted to feel for so long.

Then a thought crossed his mind and he frowned at Silver, trying to focus on his face.

“Are you-”

“I’m alright,” the latter quickly interrupted, nodding at doctor to resume their task. Flint shuddered when they touched his spine again, but clenched his teeth and endured.

“Is it serious?” the Quartermaster looked at doctor above Flint’s head.

“It’s just a scratch,” Flint mumbled in protest at the same time with doctors’ “It’s better than it looks. It’ll heal pretty fast.”

Silver said nothing, Flint noticed him nodding his head slowly and then looking back at him. He tried to focus on his face, but with how much the world was blurring it was pretty hard. Yet everything shined so brightly it hurt his eyes too.

“I kept it,” he whispered after a long moments of silence, dropping his gaze down. His hands lay uselessly in his own lap, as the doctor carefully put bandage around his torso.

“I know,” Silver echoed in the same tone, but even softer. Flint felt his breath on the side of his face.

He missed the moment when everything was over and they were left alone. Neither said a word, no one moved. Flint looked as in some kind of trance at his hands – they were in bandages too, but couldn’t remember the exact time doctor put those on.

Was it even doctor’s doing?

The world blurred and shined at the same time – a strange mix making his head spin. His consciousness tried to fade away, in a long welcomed darkness, in an abyss he knew so well. Yet if he’d succumb to its embrace he won’t see _him_ again. And everything he wanted for the time being was to be able to just look in those blue eyes and know that he’s here.

His body felt so heavy, so did his eyelids. He blinked the blurriness away, but it kept clouding his vision even more. Just like that he heard Silver’s exhale and felt him shifting. His hand – _he killed dozens with this hand both were stained with blood both had no right to touch to feel had absolutely no right_ – felt like a heavy rock, when he lifted it and placed it somewhere. He couldn’t even tell where exactly with everything blurring before his eyes so hard.

“Stay,” he heard himself saying, his voice slurred and weak.

Then the world collapsed on him suddenly, crushing with its weight and Flint closed his eyes, letting himself fall under such pressure somewhere so deep where nothing could reach him anymore. His head lolled to the side and pressed into something warm and solid. Something that gripped him, not letting him sink into the darkness. Keeping him in that place where nothing hurt, but everything shined with a soft light.

“Always,” he barely managed to hear, when his consciousness left him for good.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint being a bit too blind sometimes, but not about the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These past weeks was terrible in terms of language issues: I had to send letters and make my work in Ukrainian, while speaking aloud in Russian, and then trying to to write new chapter in English, so my English here sucks more than ever, I'm being honest with myself here. Also, I keep mixing tenses and everything, but what's funny: I know how to do it correctly, but when I start typing no rules come to mind. It results in some mistakes and I'm genuinely sorry for that. I'm on a road of improving myself now, I hope to try my best. Thank you everyone for reading my stuff and leaving comments, that encourages me ten times more)

Flint couldn’t say he hated rain. England was well-known for her murky weather, with London’s fog and nasty rain, pouring from above in never-ending flow. Back there he didn’t have much time to notice weather’s changes, nor really liking of disliking it.

In Nassau nothing changed, except tropical rain and storms were a far cry from London’s ones. Here, in New Providence, the wind howled like a lonely dog, the sky and sea switched places and everything fucking drowned in water from under and above. The last straw was a mind-blowing humidity and the air so thick it was hard to even breathe.

Sometimes Flint spend those storms in Miranda’s house, sitting by the fire with one of his books or just closing his eyes and letting sounds from Miranda’s harpsichord, combined with clattering of raindrops lull him to sleep. It was rare moments when he almost felt safe again.

This couldn’t have been said about his new surroundings. A safe place, maybe. A roof above him? Yes. But not when the storm came.

The hut was _shaking_. Flint’s eye twitched every fucking time he heard a groaning creak of wooden columns which were the only ones what made that fucking thing stay upright. His bed was soaked, so was the floor, made of some sort of clay or something and it made that annoyingly slurping sound with each and every step on it.

The storm came to Maroon Island and Flint felt like he literally stood outside in the center of it. Water splashed in tiny droplets from above (were there fucking slots in that roof?!) and from both sides (fucking wind threw water at the hut almost horizontally!), making it impossible to find even a dry corner.

At times like these he wished to be in Nassau again, with her stone houses (maybe not an actual stone, but solid, anyway!). And worst of all, judging by Queen’s words, his hut was one of the _best ones_ on the island. Flint tried not to think what his crew experienced right now. 

He suppressed a fleeting urge to return on a ship to wait this fucking nightmare in a safe and most of all dry atmosphere of his cabin, but it felt like a suicide mission now. Flint sighed and started pacing back and forth, as if counting minutes till this fucking weather cleared.

A short knock started him, but before he could’ve been able to say something the door creaked and a something resembling a drenched cat tumbled in.

“Sorry,” Silver breathed with an audible relief, unsuccessfully trying to clear his face from soaked mass of curls, obscuring it right now.

“Why the fuck you’re not in your hut?” Flint exclaimed, searching for some dry rag. Blissfully he found one and now watched Silver wipe his face. “How exactly you decided to take a fucking walk when the weather is fucking insane?”

“It seems I’m a bit insane too,” Silver chuckled Flint’s exasperated sigh came in a harsh huff. “Sorry, but my own hut is a miniature ocean right now, so I decided to take cover from this madness somewhere else. Yours was a nearest one.”

“Well, as you see,” Flint opened his hands, presenting their surroundings, “it’s not a dry haven here too, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” his Quartermaster chuckled again, returning an already soaked cloth. Flint tossed it on a table, then shrugged. 

“Make yourself comfortable anywhere you like. I doubt you’ll find something actually _dry enough_ to provide even some sort of comfort here,” he grumbled, throwing a frustrated look towards his pillow – its left corner was drenched already.

Silver moved slowly, then took a sit on sacks of something Flint had no mind to know about, piled on top of each other.

“You can take the bed if you want, just turn the pillow on the other side,” he suggested, dragging his only chair towards small table in a corner. He noticed Silver massaging his knee, just above the peg and wondered if his wound hurt more, soaked in rain. It would’ve been better to take all clothes off, changing into something dryer and softer, un-strapping his peg leg and-

Was he actually reading Silver’s mind now?

No doubt his Quartermaster would think those thoughts, but Flint could only guess them, nothing more. They were partners now, “closest friends”, as Silver called them himself, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that they knew each others minds so well.

And still it felt strange, even surreal in some way. Flint let himself think about it from time to time, but no real answer came. Except he wouldn’t mind a rare opportunity to look inside that brilliant intellect and know what kinds of thoughts circled there.

_What he thought about him? How exactly he regarded their relationships?_

_Was it possible to-_

“You’re not going to sleep?” Silver asked out of nowhere and Flint’s focus snapped back at him. Silver’s left hand still rubbed his knee in small circles, but it seemed like a distracted task now.

“Does it hurt?” Flint nodded towards his movements, making Silver pause for a moment.

“It’ll-” he began, but Flint cut him short.

“I’m not asking whether it’ll pass or not,” his voice was stern, almost scolding. He felt it, heard it, but, aside from that, he knew what showed on his face now. And it was concern, open, raw and honest. “Does it hurt?”

Silver looked at his leg, a wistful look on his face quickly gave way to something more… exposed. Flint saw deep lines in his features, saw tiredness there, exhaustion, but not those ones from before. They were lighter now, almost fading away, because maybe – just maybe – Silver didn’t felt this heavy weight on his shoulders anymore. Maybe he let himself share it with Flint, not all at once, but it was a start.

“Yes,” Silver softly admitted, and rubbed his knee again. Then squeezed it and Flint almost felt a tiny pang of pain shooting through his own leg. Almost.

“But it gets better,” Silver looked back at him and there was that tiny flicker of a smile on his face. A real one, not those shark-like grins or mischievous smirks he gave everyone before – _he stopped after Charlestown anyway_ – but something so small, even hesitant, yet so genuine.

Flint felt like his heart grew at least three times bigger, making his chest ache and swell with something he couldn’t name at once. Yet he could now. He named it that day, in the doldrums, and knew its name since then.

_I want you to smile more. I miss it. I miss you. I want you to feel safe. I-_

Well, at least last part he could make real. He had this particular thought for a while already, ever since battle for the island. He just had to form a plan now and stick to it, like always.

That’s why he asked Silver to meet him on the hills the next day. He agreed, of course, but Flint saw an apparent question on his face. Thankfully Silver decided not to press the matter, just accepting the offer without further ado. Flint knew it picked his curiosity, his never-ending desire to understand everything about everyone. To crawl under their skin like he did with him.

In the past he would have been irritated of Silver and even of himself because of that, but now… Now everything changed.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Next day brought some news from their rapidly growing camp: Blackbeard started preparing his return to the Ocracoke. Flint saw a troubled look the Queen threw towards him, undoubtedly worrying about the consequences of loosing six full armed ships even before the fight for Nassau started.

Though it was Vane who suddenly reassured them that there was nothing to be concerned about.

“We'll settle things there,” he shrugged imperturbably, as if oblivious to their discomfort with Blackbeard's departure. “Gather more men, maybe.”

This seemed like a wise thing to do, so Flint simply nodded at the Queen, confirming his approval of the matter. She wasn't entirely convinced, judging by the grim set of her jaw, but didn't argue.

Rackham, this time, prepared to follow his Captain to the Ocracoke and Flint, maybe, wasn't the only one to notice Anne Bonny's unhappy, if not more so, reaction to this particular news. There was a loud arguing coming from their hut and then Bonny stormed away angrily, stomping with force that made steps creak in protest.

Rackham emerged a few seconds after, rubbing his temple in noticeable frustration.

“I knew she'd not take them well,” he confessed, noticing Flint standing near the steps. 

Last thing Flint wanted was to be involved in “lovers quarrel”, but something made him pause.

“How can you tell?”

“She didn't like it from the very beginning,” Rackham sighed, shaking his head. His look this way and that, but Bonny's was nowhere to be seen already. “Just wanted for us take the cache and walk away from all this madness. And now, here we are,” the latter was added with a defeated chuckle.

Flint noticed him rubbing his wrist and couldn't look away from that. Anne Bonny's Name resembled a fine drawing in golden letters, despite it being the actual part of Rackham's skin. Flint never understood how exactly that thing happened. How exactly it appeared on someone's skin? Was it some sort of magic? Or something entirely else, that a mere human had no chance of understanding?

He asked Hamiltons once, but they were unable to give him a proper answer too. Miranda heard some stories noble ladies liked to gossip about, but not a single one seemed trustworthy or even wise enough to actually pay attention to. Thomas, a real bookworm in a most positive way, was at loss too when it came to the matter of the Bond. They just had it and it was everything they needed, not trying to poke deeper and understand the hidden meaning, if one even existed.

Flint though – he never had it, he knew he'd never will, but something made him look closely every time he spotted even a hint of the Bond on someone. It made his skin crawl with maddening curiosity, which he had a hard time to tame.

“Burns every fucking time,” Rackham exhaled suddenly and Flint snapped his gaze at him, startled by the same words (well, excluding the swear) Miranda said to him not so long ago, in that half-real half-dream place, where he lost her forever.

“But,” unaware of the impact those words had on Flint, Rackham pressed an open palm to his wrist, covering the Name fully and something warm graced his features, when he looked at it, “I'd never trade it even for ten Urca's.”

Flint's throat felt tight, all words stuck in it. He'd never thought Jack Rackham of all people would be wearing that look of pure contentment and a _fucking happiness_ on his face, while looking at the Bond he currently had with a woman he definitely loved. Despite being in the same actual place Flint – _James_ – was a long time ago. Because there was someone else in Anne Bonny's life and the Bond was doomed to be broken one day because of this.

Flint knew it well. He was the case of that breaking once.

“It doesn't bother you?” he questioned before thinking about it twice.

Rackham just shrugged, crossing arms over his chest.

“About her and Max?” he raised an eyebrow and there was a twitch in his cheek after the latter's name, showing that he indeed felt some disturbance about the matter. “Honestly, it sure as hell bothered me in the beginning and it still fucking does, but... I know that everything we have is important enough to be broken so easily. Anyway, it's too complicated to talk about it,” he shrugged again, and Flint knew when there was a hint not to ask for more.

They stood in silence a few seconds, but before Flint could walk away Rackham suddenly squinted at him in that irritatingly probing way.

“What about you then?” he nodded towards his hands and Flint barely resisted the urge to clench them into fists.

“What about me?” he echoed, as unfazed as possible, though undoubtedly knew where this came from and what would come next.

“I heard a rumor about you and that lady,” Rackham poked a bit deeper, leaning in, like he tried to share a secret no one knew about. “The one you returned to every time you go ashore. Though, you stopped since Charlestown.”

“There's no one there to return anymore,” Flint told him before the new questions came, turning away. “What you have - we didn't have it.”

He walked away, but not before the answer he didn’t wait for come anyway.

“Not for everyone, it seems, then.” 

Flint made no move to glance back and see what was exactly on Rackham's face, when he said it.

Walking past Maroon doctor's hut he halted for a moment, when a sudden thought came to mind. When he entered the hut the doctor there was preparing something in a large bowl on an open fire. The smell was not entirely unpleasant, but strange anyway.

Flint told the woman what he wanted; she seemed thoughtful for a moment or so, then nodded and beckoned him to follow her. Later that day Flint looked at a wooden crutch he dropped on his cot and wondered how Silver would react to his new plan.

He tried to prepare himself for an expected arguing, but couldn't. Something told him Silver would take the news well, even if Flint really couldn't understand where this certainty suddenly came from.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The crutch bumped on a rock and Silver lost his footing, flailing his hand – the one that didn’t hold onto the crutch – instinctively. Flint jerked forward without second thought, but Silver quickly threw him a Look and hobbled on his good leg, trying to regain his balance.

“No need to grab me, I'm not gonna fall,” he grumbled, seemingly displeased with his disability maybe the exact way he felt since the first day of amputation. His unsteady balance in practicing – and not even in a real fight – bothered him deeply, and Flint didn't even need that mind-reading thing happening between them to know it for sure.

“You'll get there...” he assured him, but Silver shook his head with an exasperated sigh, clutching his crutch so hard his fingers turned white.

“I know, but-”

“I know too,” Flint added before Silver could find proper words for everything he felt about it. Right now, Flint guessed, all he could voice was really foul-lettered.

Silver glanced at him, his blue eyes suddenly searching for something on his face, but Flint had no idea what that was for. It ended as quickly as began, Silver reached for his sword and when his back straightened there was a mask of utter concentration on his face. No trace of that vulnerability he let himself show from time to time left.

Maybe he allowed himself to show _only_ when they were together. 

But Flint couldn’t raise his hopes too high on that matter. So instead he raised his blade and they started again.

They practiced till sunset and even though Flint saw the way Silver moved by the end of the day – his grip shaking a bit too much, face covered in thin layer of sweat, shirt plastered to his chest ( _that_ was something he tried not to focus on too hard) – still he respected his urge to continue and waited for him to be the first one to end it that day.

Silver, eventually, did, breathing hard, leaning almost all his weight on a crutch and Flint tried not to show his worry, but, judging by Silver’s “It’s fine, just trying to get used to that thing”, he failed.

“I’m not gonna break after something that wasn’t even a real fight,” he assured, with a shadow of a smirk, but Flint raised an eyebrow at that.

“If you assume I’m holding myself back in our practice think twice. I told you once, I know you know how to fight, and no way in hell I’ll treat you like someone who saw the blade for the first time. When I do something, I do it for real.”

“Okay, point taken,” Silver drawled, glancing at his own sword for a moment, twisting it this way and that as if trying to find at least one small flaw there. “You’re honest with me then,” a smile slowly formed on his lips. “I really appreciate that, Captain.”

Flint, despite all of his senses screaming otherwise, stepped forward, closing the gap between them and took a blade from his hand, the pads of their fingers barely brushing for a second. He wondered if his own face wore that same soft expression he saw on Silver’s face that moment.

“You told me that pride is not an issue between you and I anymore,” he returned Silver’s words to him, fingers gripping the handle of Silver’s blade, almost feeling a left-out warmth of his touch on it. “It’s not just that.”

It felt as if his heart decided to speak for him, because he couldn’t have _thought_ he’d ever say his next words aloud.

“I want for us to be honest with each other, as much as partners can be.”

Silver, it seemed, held his breath for a second, because he exhaled with a soft “Oh” after that, with an audible surprise in his tone. Which showed on his face too – that deep and honest emotion Flint was able to read so effortlessly now. 

Was it so hard to do it before?

They wasted so much time, before both of them understood it was better for them to be of a same mind. To become closer, to share something Flint doubted he shared with anyone else. Why was he so dumb not to see it sooner? That partnership and so now well-formed trust, which made him feel almost invisible, stronger than ever.

But maybe he saw it, he truly did, and it terrified him. That’s why he pushed it aside – pushed him aside – too afraid to let himself _feel_ again.

They were partners now. _Friends_ even. Flint knew what his heart wanted, he heard his mind demanding him to close the distance, to break that last wall between them and just take like a real pirate should. Still he couldn’t, but something they shared now was enough.

At least for now it was enough.

 

+++++++++++++

 

A word from Nassau came weeks after that – Queen’s men brought it with their brothers and sisters they managed to free from island’s plantations. The camp grew and their forces too, but, hearing that particular news, Flint understood that something else grew even bigger than that.

“A king,” Silver repeated with a look of someone who couldn’t believe in his own words. For him it was _unnatural_ – before, even when he lied he made it sound like an honest truth.

But not now.

“A Pirate King,” Flint corrected him purely on a reflex – _that_ news knocked him out too.

“Is that everything you want to say now?” Silver sputtered, trying to pace back and forth, but his leg, it seemed, decided not to let him do it properly; he eventually winced and flopped on a chair, with brows drawn tightly together.

“Well, that is quite… unexpected,” Flint commented thoughtfully, even though deep down he began to guess it should’ve been really fucking expected, ever since Billy came with that fucking plan to stay in Nassau and “make some needed propaganda”, as he said.

“He lost his fucking mind,” Silver pointed out, a harsh edge to his tone that made Flint look at him closely.

“Actually, I think-” he began only to have Silver finish for him.

“He planned it since that night, when I killed Dufresne.”

Flint just blinked at him.

“You knew?”

“I suspected,” Silver shrugged, crossing arms over chest; that troubled line on his temple growing deeper. “Though, I thought he’d-” he trailed off, biting on his lip.

_He’d never do this behind my back_ , echoed in his mind as if spoken aloud and Flint nodded absentmindedly. It was left unspoken, but he felt he guessed it right.

“I think that’s something we could gain an advantage from,” Flint rubbed his chin, his mind already working of turning that situation their way. 

Billy’s plan, to be honest, wasn’t insane, that Flint understood quite well. If not more so, it was in fact… excellent. Somehow Flint felt that Silver was fit for the new role way better than he even imagined, given his ability to make literally everyone listen to him and follow his word. Their own crew was a damned example, to say the least.

“An advantage?” there was puzzlement on Silver’s face, Flint noticed from the corner of his eye.

“Remember what you told me that night I buried the cache? About men fearing and respecting you at the same time, when for them and everyone else I’m the one to be only feared of,” he could recall every word he spoke to him that night. “That’s what our war needs more than ships and guns.”

“A new king to rule them, when the actual reason they became pirates was to be free from any man with power?” Silver protested with a raised brow.

“A man they’d be too afraid to challenge, but would follow with no second doubt at the same time,” Flint corrected, the idea already blossoming inside him with all the possibilities it brought. “It’s a chance we can’t loose.”

He felt Silver’s gaze on him, feeling a tension that became almost palpable in the air of his hut they were currently at, but his mind drifted elsewhere, thinking about possibilities, calculating the risks, anticipating the opportunities.

That’s why he almost missed the soft “If you say so” Silver gave after long silence and even then he just acknowledged it with a curt nod. His brain was working rapidly that moment, all other thoughts aside, maybe that’s why he barely noticed the way Silver fell silent and just looked at him.

Flint looked back only when decided to discuss these news with a Queen and was already on a doorstep. Silver made no attempt to move though, looking somewhere aside and seemed lost in thoughts.

“I think we need to discuss everything properly today,” Flint remembered, glancing back. “No practice till tomorrow, if that’s okay with you?”

“Okay,” Silver shrugged and gave him a smile, which seemed reassuring. Flint nodded at that, but a minute later, already approaching Queen’s hut, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, slowly growing inside him.

As if something was terribly wrong and he was too dumb to understand what exactly.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you do when blue turns gray?

His left hand itched so hard he felt it above all other things. Flint rubbed the spot till it stopped only to have his shoulder itching instead. The same hand, a new place. Any other time he would’ve been either irritated or oblivious and this particular day he tired to gravitate towards the latter.

They’d reach Nassau in a few hours and he’d need all his focus when that time’d come. Constantly scratching his hand because of some damn bug that surely bit him while leaving the camp or some other shit wasn’t in a list of his priorities that day.

The battle was about to begin soon and Flint felt almost giddy with that knowledge, like he couldn’t wait already. He planned it for months, calculated everything possible, gathered everyone he could, made people listen to him, made them want it as much as he did and since then he felt not a trace of nervousness, nor anticipation or something like that. He knew everything would happen his way, he’d make it work like _he_ wanted.

Yet he felt as though he needed to run somewhere as soon as possible, because he was _fucking late_! His heart pounded with a maddening speed only to slow down again – and it started the fucking moment they left the island! Flint tried to pace through his cabin – nothing. Tried to read – not at all. He was fucking late and it tore him to shreds from inside out.

When Nassau’s shore appeared on a horizon it got even worse. He felt cold sweat running down his neck, felt his fingers trembling with something he _couldn’t fucking understand_! 

Thankfully no one seemed to notice this commotion currently driving him insane.

Except one.

Silver all but dragged him below deck, where they both sat on a wooden bench and Flint noticed his Quartermaster grabbing a bottle of rum and two mugs out of nowhere. Or maybe he readied them here beforehand? Flint gripped his mug with both hands, emptying it in three long gulps. The rum burned his throat, sending fire up his head, but did nothing to calm his crazy nerve endings.

“I thought you were going to crawl out of your own skin,” Silver commented, filling his mug again. His words were muffled by a crock he held between his teeth. Flint looked at him sideways, sighed and drank again. It didn’t help too.

“The stakes today are too high to wear a cool mask,” he shrugged, though knowing that it wasn’t like that at all.

Judging by a pointed look Silver gave him he wasn’t buying it too. Flint turned then, looking him so intensely as if trying to carve his features inside his own mind. He couldn’t understand why he wanted to do it, what actually made him feel like it was the most important thing to do now, but he didn’t need it anyway. He knew every like on Silver’s face by now. Every shade of blue in his eyes. Every curve of his body, despite every time seeing it fully clothed (aside from that one time, during their practice when Silver took off his shirt and Flint nearly died). He knew this man’s appearance better than maybe anyone else, yet he felt like if he won’t do it now, he’ll never be able to again.

Silver smiled at him, completely and blissfully unaware of the thoughts his Captain currently had. So beautiful, so young and bright, as is bathed in sunlight every time their eyes met.

 _I love you_ , Flint thought, his throat locked tight in synch with his heart leaping from his mouth with maddening pounds. _We’re gonna win today, we’ll reclaim Nassau and you’ll be her King as you deserve_.

Silver cocked his head to the side, his smile so soft and honest, just simply waiting for him to say something. He couldn’t make his throat work, but he sure as hell knew he’d make it later. When everything would be over, today or tomorrow, but soon, because nothing could make him delay it any longer.

He’d tell the truth about what he felt for him. He’d tell it and Silver won’t turn away, he was almost unbelievably sure. Because that is not what partners and friends do, even if their feelings for each other are not mutual.

 

+++++++++++++

 

All he smelled was blood and gunpowder. All he heard was screams and shots. The sky became ground and vice versa. The ship groaned, falling sideways and people’s wails mixed in a cacophony of death on a bright cloudless day. The blue of the skies stayed clear, despite the water’s color painting with deep red.

The launches fell with splashes, crushing someone in the process who wasn’t lucky enough to escape. There were too many those ones these seconds – people died around, going down soundless or drowning with futile cries for help. Because no one heard even himself in this chaos, when the world seemed like a hell itself.

Flint never guessed what the latter was like, but maybe this was it. He grabbed his men, shouting for them to escape, to climb down the launches, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice. The men were scattered around, someone unmoving, someone trashing this way and that, their eyes big and filled with terror.

No one knew that Nassau’s ocean would swallow them even before they’d set their feet on her shore’s again.

Fort’s cannons roared above them again, tearing off large chunk of Walrus and dropping it into the sea, injuring those ones that still weren’t in the launches, dragging them down, sinking along with their dying ship.

He and Silver were the last ones to leave, but the task felt impossible with each bullet, flowing in the air, with each cannonball crushing into Walrus, making her shake harder and sink lower, throwing her parts at them, like she was trying to shake them off, to finally leave her to die. Or to take them with her, because those ones in fault needed to go down there too.

It was his fault, only his own, his mind chanted in a never endless flow of screaming rage, but he wasn’t the one to sink for that sin of his. He wasn’t the one.

He stumbled in a launch just in time with a loud bang of a new cannonball spearing Walrus from the side. People screamed, the boats shook, the rope tore and the ocean opened it’s jaw, swallowing it together with only one man that didn’t make to Flint’s arms only second before.

Silver disappeared in a flow of green and red, to never surface again. Flint felt deaf for a moment or so, all sounds muffling around him. Everything moved like in a strange slow motion, powder fog filling his vision, making it hard to see. Then everything snapped into action, the world collapsing on him again, and he surged forward, shrugging of his coat, unaware of everything else around him. Something hot grazed his cheek, but he barely noticed, when everything he could think of was _right there just out of reach right now now now now now_!

Someone grabbed him, tugged down. He tried to shrug them off, but there more hands, more screams, a man shouted, a woman pleaded, people cried, but he couldn’t care less, when Silver was nowhere to be seen and all this was pointless when he wasn’t there!

He tried to stand, to move, but strong hands pressed on him, his cheek touched the launches’ side, salt on his lips, splashing on him, drenching him, but still unable to wash his sins away.

They docked after what felt like eternity and Flint raised on his legs. Everyone looked at him, waited for him, but he paid them no mind. Partly for the reason that he couldn’t differ them now.

Because all color left and his world now was completely gray.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The world was dead. Colorless, neutral, unnatural. Everyone seemed to look the same – the pale shades of gray, with identical grey bodies, eyes and even skin. Maroons had darkest shades of grey, everyone else – lighter, but it still was the same.

No color was left, because world was dead now.

Along with _him_.

Flint kneeled, picking tiny remnants of porcelain cup from the floor. He vaguely recalled it was white and blue – or rose and green? He couldn’t remember, and now even couldn’t tell, because what was left of a cup was grey too.

Later fire cracked before him, and he looked at its grayish flames, feeling nothing at all. He couldn’t even feel the heat from those flames, even if he’d place his hand in there.

People were moving past him, whispering in hushed tones – or maybe he couldn’t hear properly anymore too. The grey didn’t bother him – nothing did. His eyesight gave out in some sort of mockery, making him able to see everything except the colors. Though he didn’t want it anyway – why would the world be bright again, when his _only light_ died?

He embraced his disability in such way that no one noticed anything. They thought he was so calm because of their defeat and later escape. They knew nothing. They’d never did.

His world was dead. Now he’d have to make sure theirs too.

That’s why he told nothing when Madi asked him whether this war is dead too. Because it certainly didn’t. It was everything he had now.

Everything he needed no more.

What he really needed he lost. Drowned it with his bare hands – taking one man that shouldn’t have been involved in his madness in the first place and literally fucking sacrificing him for that greater goal he wanted so hard to achieve.

He was dead now. So Flint was too.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Billy returned later that night, his jaw clenched in frustration. He placed his belt on a table with a loud thud, making Madi look at him sharply. Flint noticed it clearly – he still saw everything quite vividly – except everything was colorless. He started to grow used to it already.

“Only dead bodies on a beach my men currently keeping watch over,” Billy grumbled, dragging chair back with a loud thud. “No trace of-”

He couldn’t finish, exhaling harshly. Madi was silent; Flint was too, just quietly observing his former bosun. He had a longer hair now, facial too. He seemed stiff and bothered by thoughts Flint had no desire to know about.

But they needed to gather again and proceed the fight. Otherwise he’d just sit on a nearby surface and stay right there forever. It wasn’t tiredness speaking for him. It wasn’t exhaustion, or something physical. It was apathy he couldn’t struggle with anymore.

Yet it seemed he was still able to feel other emotions, when his darkness raised its head inside him after Billy’s attempt to exclude him from the position he was the only one fitted for. It would have resulted in a fight Flint suddenly was more than ready for, to rub that in finally, but someone from the outside called Billy’s name and the latter left, throwing a second glance at Flint, which promised nothing good.

Well, if Billy wanted to see his real enemy now, then he’d fucking see it.

“I don’t think arguing with him is wise now,” Madi stated, crossing hands over her chest. “It’ll split our forces and this is the least we need now.”

Flint regarded her with a long stare, rubbing the hilt of a blade absentmindedly. She was right, of course, but did she really think he was a reckless brat to pick a fight when stakes were too high?

“I appreciate your advice of the matter,” he placed both hands on a table, looking straight at her. “But right now I don’t need it. I know we’re outnumbered compared to Billy’s forces he gathered here. I know it’s reckless and dumb to counter him openly and I won’t do it. Though I can’t say the same about him and you know it too.”

Judging by the way she pressed her lips in a thin line she did. And it bothered her as much as him. She was his only ally, at least for now, with still no news from Blackbeard, Vane and others. During a fight they tried to distract Rogers’ forces from the sinking Walrus, but managed to do it just partly.

Right now there was no way of contacting them and it gnawed at Flint, at the same time with still growing apathy to everything happening around. This paradox could tear him apart, but he couldn’t care less. He’d fight as long as he’d be able to anyway.

It was everything he could do now, when living wasn’t an option anymore.

 

+++++++++++++

 

That first night he felt like a guest in his own house, despite not crossing its threshold for a long time already. Rooms seemed different, when he slowly walked around, noticing some bigger and little details. Something vanished completely – like linen Miranda kept in a chest of drawers – something was still there, but Flint hardly noticed. The colorless world made everything look unusual, but similar at the same time and even if something in the house was familiar Flint didn’t acknowledge it.

A while later Dooley found him and mentioned a doctor. Some men were injured, others – barely bruised, but they needed help anyway and Billy, when asked, told they had no doctor among them. Howell, it seemed, was either dead or captured.

“We can search in the town,” Dooley suggested, when it became clear that doctor’s help was not an option. Madi’s men couldn’t help with that either.

“And risk being exposed?” Billy countered just to earn a sideways glance from men, who were not close enough to hear everything, but guessed the topic correctly.

“You suggest we just leave ‘em licking their wounds by _tongues_?” Dooley bristled at him. It seemed every bit of trust he had for their bosun was rapidly vanishing.

“I suggest being careful and think clearly, which none of you is capable of now,” Billy retorted, straightening his posture like he did every time he disagreed with something. Which was every damn time, as Flint recalled, really. Right now he still remained silent, keeping an eye on both his men, but his mind was constantly drifting off.

Dooley looked at him, making it clear the Captain’s decision should be the last one here, and Flint noticed a frown on Billy’s face became even deeper. In grayish tones of the world his face was casted in a shadow, making it look almost feral.

Maybe this gray world made everyone lose their masks in Flint’s eyes.

“Our men are injured,” he began slowly, rubbing his beard. “But it’s critical for our location to remain hidden. So,” he captured Billy’s suspicious glance, “if you know of _intact_ safe passages to Nassau I suggest you send our men for some medical help.”

He stressed “our” deliberately, stopping himself mid-sentence before he’d say “mine”. Maybe that’s why Billy regarded him with a long stare, then turned and called for the men. Flint gave Dooley a curt nod and the latter was off too.

He returned in the grayish shadows of a house, where gray fire still made wood creak in the kitchen’s dusty silence. Flint sat near it, hiding his face in open palms with a deep sigh. The latter was a last one for him in mere seconds, because suddenly there wasn’t a puff of breath left in his lungs.

He was choking, opening his mouth frantically, doubling over, seeing nothing except gray – the color so deep it was almost dark. Like nothingness. Like ocean’s depths, where he wasn’t a single time before, but somehow he knew their shade, as if they opened before him, reached for him, captured him.

His breath was gone like he was drowning and there was no panic – nothing of the sort – when he understood that maybe he’d die right here, on a creaking chair in this old house, filled to the brink with memories that should be burned down forever.

His eyes closed again, body relaxed, but his head hurt, as if he really was under water and the lack of oxygen made his brain scream in agony. A sharp sting pierced his skull and suddenly the air was back, rushing into him in a flow, so unexpected that Flint felt blind for a second or so.

Everything returned to normal in mere minutes, he breathed again, his head clear with no trace of aching. His world still gray, but that was a normal currently too.

Except now his mouth was filled with salt, but his eyes remained dry.

 

+++++++++++++

 

They brought a doctor only by dawn. Flint stood by the window in Miranda’s bedroom, which resembled it only vaguely now. The bed was stripped of its fine covers, the wardrobe turned upside down, missing even its doors. The painting was gone too and Flint, noticing it for the first time, waited for rage to come, but it didn’t.

He felt nothing now.

Yet, the sun rose higher and he was proved wrong, when suddenly there was an unbearable heat attacking him, making his skin crawl and sweat more than ever. He loosened a collar, gulped three mugs of water, but nothing helped. He was so hot his head buzzed with it.

He rubbed his wrists from time to time – they itched faintly, but it was heat that bothered him most of all.

Those engulfing flames started to leave his body by the end of the day. He breathed easier, sweat cooling on his body, making it sticky, but a cool – not for a fucking life it would be hot – bath was not an option these days. There were no spare clothes for him even, because all that was at the bottom of Nassau’s shores with half of the Walrus crew and the ship itself.

It changed for the better somehow next day, when new slaves from a far-away plantation joined them. It appeared, Madi’s men made an attempt to sneak there and free their brothers and sisters, but unfortunately not everyone. There were three women among them, older than Madi, judging by their looks, and they brought scarce belongings with them. Rags, some clothes and even a cooking pan. Madi brought those women to Miranda’s room, which Flint gave to her, making it clear for the other that it was only hers specifically. No one argued, even Billy firmly nodded at that.

That night one of these women approached Flint tentatively and asked, with her eyes downcast and her voice weak, if he’d agree to hand his coat to her. She’d stitch it and wash it and made it comfortable for him. He knew she never would have dared to suggest it without Madi’s encouraging so he silently shrugged his coat off, gave it to her and, when she turned to leave, told her to rest beforehand.

She glanced at him with wide eyes, but said nothing. Then she hurriedly left, but not before he noticed there was no fear in her eyes whatsoever.

In the morning the coat, dry and stitched, was placed near his cot. 

 

+++++++++++++

 

The catastrophe at Underhill plantation left him with that coat only and no place to return to, given the fact that Billy undoubtedly took his men back to Miranda’s house. This left Flint an unwelcome stranger there. 

Madi’s men managed to find some old house, with no roof and a field of grass surrounding it. It was a shitty place to spend their nights, but without any other options it was either this or nothing at all. They were lucky enough the sky was clear, without any hint of future storm. He heard his men talking about it, whereas he couldn’t tell it himself for sure. The sky was gray for him, as if overcast.

That first night he couldn’t sleep, standing by the hole in a wall (it was either a door or a window here once) with his thoughts dark. This skeleton of a house stood on island’s outskirts and it was a slim change someone would actually search for them here, but the whole situation was fucked, to put it simply.

Flint sighed, eyes slipping shut for a second, breathing in cool night air. An unbearable heat, which tormented him constantly these days, faded, leaving him almost content with its absence. But contentment wasn’t for him at all. Not anymore.

For a moment he recalled those days on Maroon Island, when they still were in a cages, waiting to be either tormented to death or executed under Queen’s order. He accepted his fate there, gave up all struggle, ready for the inevitable to come.

Yet it didn’t, because Silver took him from the depths he dove into. Opened a door for him and held his hand, guiding him through it.

They barely touched each other in real life. Now was too late to change it.

Silver saved him. But he couldn’t do the same when needed.

 _Where are you?_ The wind whispered in Silver’s voice, echoing in Flint’s mind.

 _I’m here_ , he wanted to reply. _But you are no more_.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Israel Hands' POV. I was very exited to write it, but, I must say, sorry for the rude language. I just imagined it would be the exact way Hands talks.  
> Anyway, it's closer and closer to the Real Thing That Should Have Happened Months Ago!

They said he was a giant, taller than any man, towering above everyone. He could crush man’s head with just one step of his foot, they whispered, trembling with fear, glancing back, into the shadows, just to make sure he won’t hear them.

His voice was strong and powerful; his stance – hard and unyielding; his presence – overwhelming, crushing with power, emanating from him.

They called him a King. He named himself _Long John Silver_.

And he was… a damn fucking cripple.

Hands met his eyes on a beach, not expecting to find an actual Pirate King among dead Governor’s soldiers. There was no difference for him, though, as his blade was coated in blood from both sides.

Yet he didn’t kill this man, who was panting harshly on a ground beneath his feet. He was short a leg, and, according to _saner0_ parts of those rumors, only one man among those who waged a fucking war against civilization was dumb enough to engage in it being a nuisance to his brothers.

Hands’ own brothers would have got rid of someone like that among them. Wars needed strong, _whole men_ , not some mockery.

Yet this was an opportunity to raise his head again, to take money from the Governor and get the fuck away from here. To find his brothers, maybe, his former Captain and this time fucking _prove_ everything to him.

He dragged that cripple to a place he used to mockingly call “home” and started rummaging through his clothes. There was nothing valuable except a few rings and a worn-out necklace on him, making Hands’ irritation grow. He was a fucking King, as they called him, and yet not only they actually lost him among the dead, but there was nothing in his appearance that made him at least resembling regal.

Teach wasn’t like that.

Hands pressed him mouth in a thin line, stubbornly _not_ thinking about the latter. About a man he trusted – they all trusted – only to have it thrown away like some cheap coin.

He shoved _the King_ hard, making his back collide with a wooden stick, then grabbed his wrist and a rope only to jerk his hand away with a hiss.

This mockery of a pirate had his wrist burn with fire, which bit Hand’s fingers like an angry dog. He was no stranger to any kind of pain and this shouldn’t have bothered him a slightest bit, but… for a moment it felt as if his mind was engulfed in flames.

He grumbled and grabbed his fingers instead, which, strangely, weren’t so blazing hot. For a moment, tying his hands above his head, he considered a fucking possibility that a rope would _fucking burn_ , but nothing happened.

The King’s head lolled to the side, a sigh escaped his lips. Hands saw a flash of pain cross his unconscious battered face, but he didn’t wake up. Good. There was still time to prepare. He was a fucking _King_ after all, he deserved a proper greeting.

 

+++++++++++++

 

But – of fuck – was he an irritating piece of shit! No amount of beating could have made him shut the fuck up. He thought he’d made him piss himself with fear, gutting that redcoat right in front of him, and the cripple’s eyes was full of fear, yes, but something still didn’t fell right.

Something in the way he looked at him, with those fucking eyes, which resembled a color of a sky, where it connected with sea. Hands felt himself dumb even thinking like this! Yet, something was still off.

And a fucking shit won’t even make it easier. Everyone would have crap one’s pants when he _worked_. Even his former brothers sometimes looked at him with that deep horror, which they were too stupid to hide.

This man was afraid. Yet Hands couldn’t shake a strange feeling that it was somehow different. As if he knew something even more terrifying in his life. As if he met a monster once, a creature of nightmares, and now nothing could scare him that hard anymore.

It was… unnerving.

The way this man looked at him, the way he spoke to him, was… unsettling. Hands beated the shit out of him with just two firm kicks, feeling that deep rumbling satisfaction of seeing him coughing blood, and yet-

Something was wrong.

The damn cripple closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, bumping head against stick, which he still was tied to, and tried to regain his breath. His lips were painted in red, his hair framed it like a bird’s nest – hiding a mask of pain on his face.

Hands spitted on his boot and turned away. He was hungry.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The sun made a good job on a corpse, making it rot really fucking fast. Hands snickered, noticing the cripple’s gaze towards dead man.

“Not so fancy for your liking, eh?” he smirked, tossing a nest with two fishes in it on a sand.

The man slowly turned his head, as if in some sort of trance. There was tiredness and a slight confusion on his face now. No trace of fear or, given the rotting flesh near him, disgust. Actually, he almost looked… 

Sad.

“Would you leave him here?” he asked suddenly, voice rough from lack of water. Hands noticed him trying to wet his lips, but probably even his tongue was fucking dry by now.

“You can _beg_ me to take ‘im away,” he mocked, going for his knife. He was starving already, fish won’t prepare itself. 

There was no answer at that, and Hands gripped the knife’s handle so tight it almost creaked. He was on edge all of sudden, wound up with no meaning behind it. Maybe it was hunger. Nothing else.

And then the fucking cripple started to talk.

Hands kicked him in the gut, without even noticing when he actually stood and approached this piece of a man, this mockery of a pirate, who dared to call himself a _King_ and actually state that-

“Israel Hands” he heard then and whipped his head back even before his mind actually processed those words.

That man was looking at him and there was no fear on his face. There was something entirely else, and it made Hands’ skin crawl.

There was an interest in there. And actual fucking curiosity, as if that man found a shell on a beach, which was different from normal ones.

“That’s your name,” the man added and Hands saw his mouth quirk a little in the corners.

He wanted to choke him. To bash his head with fists until it cracked. To rip his lungs out, to take away his tongue, to do something fucking possible to make. him. shut. up.

He didn’t.

He grabbed his fish and burned till it turned black. Maybe taste was awful, but he barely noticed.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Next day he was hunting in a far away part of a beach, when a whole lot of British soldiers came, threw their guns and coats on a sand and started fucking _bathe_. It was luck they haven’t noticed him, but the way back was closed for him. Till they’d finished, of course.

Which those fuckers had no mind to do, chatting, laughing, even drinking some shit from small bottles and clearly enjoying themselves. Hands gripped his blade, then released it and lay still in his hidden spot, behind the wreck of a boat. There were at least twenty men, and it would be foolish to attack them.

It was only _hours_ later when they decided to leave, and still he waited almost an hour longer after they were gone, just in case.

He returned “home” with no fish, a headache from listening to redcoats foolish ramblings, and his head feeling like it’s been roasted while he had to lay still in the fucking sun.

The cripple didn’t even turn his head when he approached. Hands clenched teeth in irritation, then decided to sharpen blade under a fucking roof. It was only after dawn he noticed something was off.

His captive was still silent, which, as he now _fucking knew_ , was almost impossible, yet blissfully expected.

It appeared, though, the case was important. Really.

He had a fever. His skin was burning with fire – not only his wrist now – and drenched in sweat at the same time. Hands noticed angry red spots on his fingers and exposed forearms, but refrained from touching it.

He left him in open sun, with no water – not that he actually considered giving him one, but still- There were a strange smell coming off of him and Hands’ eyes drifted lower to his stump. He grabbed it and the cripple jerked, trashing his head back, a painful moan escaping his lips.

He was unconscious, which was… good, maybe.

Hands guessed what the Governor would do with this man, once he’d get him. Once Hands would deliver him in exchange for gold. He planned to do it yesterday, but decided to wait. He had to do it today, but somehow went for a hunt. He should do it tomorrow, but-

He wouldn’t have even a coin if this man would die on him now.

He cut a rope from his wrists and the cripple fell, like a grain sack. Hands watched as he started shaking, still out cold. He didn’t regain his senses even when Hands dragged him under the tent, just panted and trembled like a leaf.

Hands threw a worn-out piece of rag which was his blanket on him and waited. The trembling didn’t stop. He clenched his own teeth, then started to prepare fire. Maybe it’ll warm him up enough.

He wasn’t a fucking doctor. He never knew what to do with sick men. Those ones Teach always kicked out from his crew. No weakling was allowed among his men. 

Yet now the man who cost a whole lot of coins was sick and no way in hell would Hands allow him to die. 

He started with water, lifting his head and trying to make him drink even a few gulps. With him shaking so hard and teeth chattering it was almost impossible. Hands cursed and gripped him tighter, pressing a thumb on his lower lip.

“Open it, you fucker,” he growled, shoving a mug in his face.

The man whimpered, then gasped and his lips cracked open. He coughed and choked, but was able to drink even a little. His head lolled to the side, burning forehead pressed against Hands’ elbow.

Hands started to pull away, when his captive eyes opened, clouded and glassy. Chapped lips moved and Hands purely on a whim moved lower, trying to listen clearly.

“Captain?” the man in his arms asked and there was something in his voice Hands didn’t want to think of. He never knew it before, even if saw in others.

Even if thought it to be weakness.

Glassy eyes closed after that and silence came again. Hands propped him against a wooden plank, looked for some more rags and threw them on him too. He tossed wood and flinders in fire to make it burn stronger and sat before it, looking in the flames.

He tried to remember Teach’s face, to recall his commands, to think about how it felt being in a crew of such a man.

_Captain_ , was everything he heard in a cracking blaze. 

Blue was all he saw.

 

+++++++++++++

 

He gave him water till dawn and felt fucking exhausted by the time sun appeared on a horizon, which he didn’t feel even after good battle. At some point he placed a cool rug on his forehead, waited till it became dry, then soaked it again and repeated the task.

He didn’t fucking know was it helping or not. Maybe he was slowly killing the man instead of making sure he stays alive, but something needed to be done and it was all he was capable of.

When sun came higher Hands pressed his back against tent’s side and sighed deeply. His eyes closed and he fell asleep.

Something jerked him awake and he grabbed his blade instantly, lunging forward, only to stop immediately under blue-eyed gaze. Long John’s hand was raised a bit, as if he was trying to stop sudden attack. He seemed pale, but could sit, with rags pooled in a heap on his knees.

Hands frowned at him, noticing how his hand dropped. The King tried to say something, but coughed instead, and Hands pushed a mug his way, openly scowling the entire time. The man eyed him, then the mug, but took it and made a few long gulps, coughing after it again.

“Thank you,” he croaked, pushing mug back.

Hands didn’t bother to answer, just stood, towering over him for a moment. Long John Silver cocked his head to the side, looking back, and that interest was back there again.

_What are you?_ Was in there. _What makes you breathe? What would make you tick?_

There was something dark and ugly he wanted to do with a man, who looked at him with those fucking eyes, but instead he stomped away, rummaged through his scarce belongings and found a single shackle.

The King only sighed, when he shackled his wrist to a wooden stick. Not above his head this time. Under a tent this time. Just one wrist this time.

It still burned him, just like it did that first day. But he gritted his teeth and didn’t pull away. He felt a tension in John Silver’s body, when he shackled him, as if he was actually contemplating to resist. But he made no move to push Hands away – he didn’t move at all, just looked _with those fucking eyes of his!_ – and said nothing.

His gaze said everything. It bored holes in him, wherever Hands would go. He wanted to claw them off. To make him bleed and scream.

_I’m no one, from nowhere, belonging to nothing_.

He wanted to rip his own ears off his own head, just not to listen to those words again, even if it was his mind whispering them.

_I’m a wretch like you_.

He wanted it to be a lie, but they both knew it was a fucking truth.

_I’m the reason grown men lie awake at night_.

And now he did too.

_I’m a new beginning for Nassau_.

And he wanted to sink on sand and lick his boots clean. Because the Blackbeard never was a king in his eyes. He never needed one.

Maybe now he did.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Long John never asked for water or food. He just sat on the same spot, shackled by one wrist to a tent’s stick and watched day become night and vise versa. And of course his eyes followed Hands’ every move, like under some kind of spell.

It irritated him almost as much as a tingling want to take the shackle away. To ask him speak again and tell more. About how exactly would he take Nassau, overthrow the Governor and get rid of him and his redcoats for good.

It’d be a massacre Hands was all too willing to participate in.

Hours later the King shifted, changing position, as much as shackle allowed, and muttered something under his breath. Hands heard only “fucking” and nothing more, but turned anyway.

“What?” he spat.

Long John side-eyed him and just shrugged.

“Nothing.”

“If you want to say something, spit it out,” he narrowed his eyes, not buying it. “You’re so brave to call someone ‘fucker’ under your breath, but too hen-hearted to say it in my face?”

“What?” the King asked, looking clearly baffled. Then it seemed he understood something, because Hands was prepared for anything, except a short chuckle. “You’re quick to take offense, it seems.”

He actually smirked, shaking his head, those curls sticking to his lips.

“What the fuck?” Hands felt his fists clench.

“My leg,” Long John Silver replied and there was a tired amusement on his face, when he looked at him. “I was talking about my _fucking_ leg.”

That made an awkward silence stretch between them. Hands looked at the blade his was currently sharpening, then heard himself asking:

“What was it?”

“What was what?”

Oh, but that man _was_ a shit.

“How exactly did you loose it?” he deliberately looked at his stump, then met his eyes again.

The King glanced on his leg too, cocked head to the side and suddenly Hands thought it wouldn’t be so easy.

“If I tell you would you tell me?” he replied suddenly, with that damn interest in his eyes again.

“About what?” Hands asked suspiciously. He should have seen it coming. This man was a literal threat, if not physically. 

That made Long John look somewhere to the side, towards the horizon.

“What happens there?” he asked softly, his face wearing a far-away look, as if he wasn’t here at all. As if he wanted to be somewhere else. “What happened after that day? What are they doing now? Where are h-”

He cut himself and let out a deep sigh.

“A madman hacked it to pieces, then doctor cut it off,” he slowly confessed, in a simple, plain voice, as if speaking about weather. “That’s all.”

And silence fell on them again. The King exhaled, reached for a mug. Hands observed him from the corner of an eye, saying nothing. It was only when the sun started rolling towards horizon, he decided to speak again.

“The sips are wrecked in a bay, the men captured,” he paused and looked at Long John Silver, who was staring at him with rapt attention. “But not all of them. That’s what people say, I don’t give a shit if it’s true or not.”

He moved to stand and head away, when a question hit him in the back.

“You’ll take me to him too?”

He turned back and met his eyes. The King’s face was calm and impassive. He couldn’t read Hands’ mind, couldn’t have known about his intentions regarding him. Yet he knew and Hands knew it too.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Hands knew he wasn’t an only one in the wrecks. There always were other inhabitants of that place, hiding among the rocks, pale shadows of grown men. Most of them were harmless, silent skeletons, with sunken eyes, hollow stomachs and minds drifting elsewhere. Cast-outs from everywhere, wretches and creatures of past.

No one dared to approach him, for they knew what the outcome would be. They’d shrink back at the mere sight of him, trembling heaps of dirty rags and man flesh. 

He paid them no mind, knowing full well not one single soul in here would dare to challenge him.

That night he went to the beach again. The sea always spitted corpses out for him to take out his rage on. He returned long before dawn, but almost immediately sensed something was not right.

Someone else was here, aside from still shackled King. And that someone was currently rummaging through his belongings, whining and whimpering.

“Food,” he chanted in a monotone voice. “Food! Food!”

He crawled towards King’s corner and started fumbling there, demanding food even louder. Hands saw the King looking at that piece of flesh and bones, shaking his head.

“I don’t have it. Wish I would, but I don’t.”

“Food!” wailed an intruder suddenly, lunging at him, in a flickering light of dying fire his face resembled a skeleton. “Food!”

The King dodged a blow of clawed fingers with free hand, but with other one shackled he couldn’t move away too quickly. Not to mention him being short a leg.

Hands saw the intruder’s fingers clutching a bunch of curls, heard a gasp the King let out, and barely noticed his own legs moving forward. Barely noticed grabbing that fucking scum with both hands around his throat, lifting him from the ground and squeezing. Hard.

He heard gurgles, chokes, felt fingers clawing desperately at him, but nothing mattered. Except one.

“You,” he hissed through clenched teeth, looking in the wide eyes of a dying from lack of air scum. “Don’t,” a squeeze. “You,” another one. “Dare. Fucking. Touch. Him.”

The man’s face was almost blue now, his eyes rolled back, a wheeze coming from his mouth, but Hands kept pressing his fingers together, more and more, until there would be an audible crack.

“That’s enough,” a hard voice ordered behind his back and he started, snapping his head to the source.

The King stood on one leg, the shackle raised almost to the top of a stick, which currently helped the man to stay upright. There was a hard look on his face, the one Hands never seen before.

“Let him go, now,” Long John Silver ordered again, nodding towards the man in question and Hands unclenched his fingers. The scum fell in a heap, coughing and wheezing violently.

But started whining for food almost instantly he regained his breath. The King looked at him, but there was no pity in his eyes. They were calm, almost calculating, as if already started to wonder what advantage could have been taken from a simple scum beneath his feet.

“Give him your fish,” he suddenly told, and Hands quirked an eyebrow at that. “You have plenty of those in there,” a nod towards far end of the tent.

“We’d throw fucking alms now?” he hissed, only to make those eyes look at him again.

“ _That’s_ not our enemy,” Long John Silver replied, looking at whining man. “Just give it.”

And Hands did.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Next day he left before dawn and returned when the sun was already high. He dropped a crutch near King’s legs and said nothing, but felt a piercing gaze on him the entire time. He still left a shackle, though.

That night he removed it, when they met a woman. The King talked to her, as if they knew each other really well. It seemed they did, but the plan was shitty anyway, when she ordered her men to capture them.

That was when the King saved his life, killing a man, who tried to kill him. Hands narrowed his eyes at him, then at the hurriedly retreating woman. Now she that Long John Silver was alive, and soon, Hands was no fool, all Nassau would know it as well.

They returned to their “camp” and Hands looked at the pistol the King carried in his free hand all along. When they were at the tent again, the King gave it to him. Hands took it, but couldn’t ask the question that was on his tongue.

Everything would move from here, he knew it. Tomorrow, or the day after, or even a week – but they would need to leave this place. It was everything he wanted. To return again. To fight again. To matter again.

Yet he couldn’t explain why the thought of not staying here longer, just the two of them, where world couldn’t reach them, made his head hurt.

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The King eyed the coat with a long stare, blinked a few times, then looked at Hands. He just kept sharpening his blade, trying to seem as impassive as always.

There was not only the coat. Silver rings, a black cord to tie hair back were placed right beside it on sand.

A look the King gave him was both stricken and suspicious.

“Should I say something about it?” he commented at last, picking one ring and placing it on his pinky. It fit well, as Hands could see.

“What do you want to say?” Hands grumbled, not looking at him.

Long John sighed and Hands, despite his better judgment, looked up. The man brushed curls from his temple and tied them behind his head with a cord. This way his eyes were visible even more. Hands vaguely noticed thin braids in a thick mass of curls.

It was… something.

When the King stood, leaning on his crutch, Hands stayed where he was. John Silver limped towards sea, sparkling under sunlight in a distance. Maybe he wanted to bathe, or just to wash his face Hand’s didn’t know, but he returned rather quickly for a man with just one leg.

His curls were slightly wet, sea-water dripping from them on a sand.

Hands said nothing, just watched him dressing. Only when the King sat heavily, pressing his back to a stick, Hands moved to pick a fish. First one he cooked and threw at him. After a moment the King asked why he wasn’t shackled and Hands found himself smirking at their next dialog.

He wanted to glance back and tell him about reclaiming Nassau. Wanted to make sure the King knew that even if no one would stand beside him to do it, he’d always be there anyway.

But dogs howled in a distance and those words were never spoken.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I say "finally"? Okay, FINALLY. Not the ending, though. Not even a closer step towards one. There's a lot to write still, when everything revealed now. Thank you so much for kudos and comments, I love each an every one! I'm so glad to be a part of this beautiful fandom, to love this amazing OTP and to be able to write about it (though still not so good as I want, but hey, I'm trying to do my best here).

The sun has risen, but Flint only could’ve guessed it. The dark grey became lighter, calling an end to his sleepless night and then his men stirred, woke up, and a new day began.

It started with a quarrel, where the man whose name Flint barely remembered threw accusations at him in particular and all pirates in general, blaming their kin for what Billy did to slaves. Dooley hovered near, clutching his pistol and glaring daggers at the man, but Flint didn’t need a bodyguard to stand for him in matters like these. Still Madi was the one who made the man silent.

Flint was in some way glad she did that. He doubted he could’ve stayed composed if the matter would have been pressed more. There was a sudden reason for that.

He was restless. His skin prickled, his fingers twitched endlessly, his heart leaped one moment and calmed down the other. Every fiber of his being screamed to move, to run, to do something, otherwise he’d be late. After Madi left to see that woman – Eme – he barely suppressed the urge to throw himself into action right away.

What action exactly was another question he couldn’t find an answer for.

It started driving him insane with each passing minute, when his whole body screamed with tension. When he knew that running somewhere right fucking now would be a damn right thing to do.

_Where?_ he tried to ask his own mind. But he didn’t know.

Then Madi returned and brought sudden news with her. 

“Some of your men were seen in the wrecks,” she told him, with Dooley, Joji and her men listening intently. “Eme couldn’t tell me how many of them or who that was, only that Governor knew about Captain Flint’s men hiding there. He sent a party of redcoats to take them either dead or alive.”

“Maybe someone survived the ship’s crash,” Dooley looked at Flint, with eyebrows raised, but there was a determination on his face already. “Lucky bastards! We’re gonna-”

“Yes,” Flint answered, and tried to suppress a flinch, when a pang of pain speared through his left wrist. It faded away just as quickly, leaving only fire in its wake, licking at his skin.

He took only Joji, Dooley and few other men with him, instructing Madi to wait for their return there, in the “house”, hiding her position. Just in case. He tried to think of possibility of this entire affair being a trap (maybe Eme’s role in their revolution was exposed somehow and someone fed her a deliberately incorrect information), but this thought hasn’t stayed long, replaced by the screaming urge to _hurry the fuck up!_

Roughly half an hour later the information was proved true, because they spotted a party of redcoats turning the wrecks upside down with their guns raised and even dogs to help them. Flint vaguely thought that it was a hell of a search party for a bunch of pirates who survived the ship’s crash, but it was quickly replaced by determination to _move, quickly, right there_.

It was a huge risk to take all these men down, but with sudden help from wrecks inhabitants, who weren’t all too happy to find intruders in their lairs, they managed to deal with half of them, without being noticed.

Still he felt it wasn’t enough, looking around frantically and trying to understand what that tugging, pushing feeling was, which ripped him in half. Still it helped him to caught sight of three redcoats climbing rocks in a distance, as if stalking their prey.

His mind still processed the plan of getting behind them, but his body already moved. He never climbed rocks so quickly and quietly in his life, never drew his knife out faster than in a blink of an eye, never dug it in man’s throat with such force, shoving a lifeless body to the ground, letting out a breath he was holding-

And loosing an ability to take another one.

His mind played cruel tricks with him, showing him something he couldn’t see anymore. His world was grey now and there wasn’t any possible chance for him to see color again.

Except a crystalline blue was so vivid for him at that moment, so clear, so-

So _alive_.

Fire burned his hand, roared in his head, squeezed his chest, making him unable to breathe. But his legs worked, moved, one step after another. His ears heard all the noises around him, though he barely understood them. His hands were still capable of shoving a knife in its pocket, and reaching out. 

His breath was gone, but his voice not.

“You’re alive,” he said through the fire tearing his throat apart.

The crystalline blue was suddenly the only think he could see at the moment, engulfing him completely, shaking his world to the core. Or was it his body shaking? He couldn’t understand.

“Captain,” he heard then and the endless sky became smaller again, returning in the eyes of John Silver, living and breathing, standing right before his eyes, looking at him with a whirlwind of emotions on his own face.

And Flint, though being unable to name them, knew each and every one.

He blinked, seeing blue and gray, then blinked again and the color was back – so sudden, so vivid, so bright – he quietly gasped, barely able to endure it, crashing on him full force. There was a hand, pressing to his shoulder and suddenly he was back there, in the belly of _Man O’War_ , pressing himself tightly to the same man he saw right now, and that man’s hand was laying on the same part of his chest just like that time. Not to disturb the bullet wound.

There wasn’t a bullet inside him anymore. Only burning fire, which brought a rush of power in its wake, as if feeding him with its strength.

“Captain,” Silver called again and Flint looked him in the eyes. His own hand lifted and pressed on Silver’s, as if trying to make his fingers sink in his body and stay there.

_You can take every part of me you want. You can have it all_.

“I’m here,” he answered then and nodded, just like that time, at the Maroon camp, when he thanked him for opening a door. “And now you’re too.”

Silver’s eyes shined so brightly, there was amazement in them, as if he saw something beautiful and priceless before him. He never looked at _Urca de Lima’s_ gold, scattered on that beach, like that. 

“You’re here,” he breathed then, a smile blooming on face, making him look so young and happy. Flint wanted to gather every emotion he saw on him and cherish it like a treasure beyond price.

He wanted to open his mouth and say a word. _Three_ words, just for two of them to hear. But for the whole world to know.

Silver looked at him as though couldn’t tear his eyes away even for a moment, but Flint understood it well. He couldn’t do it himself too. But something shifted in the corner of his eye and the world returned again.

His world was alive again.

He looked to the side, in time to see an open scowl and a frown on a scarred face a few feet away from his own. There was a man, with a gun in his hand, and hair, almost just as bright red as Flint’s own. Though the stranger had it on his head, which Flint didn’t.

His own hand twitched for the knife and the man’s eyes immediately narrowed, but before one of them could actually draw a weapon, Silver’s voice broke the growing tension.

“Captain, it’s alright.”

Flint looked at him, Silver nodded with still present smile, then turned to the man.

“Israel, that’s okay,” he said, almost soothingly. The man’s scarred cheek twitched, but he lowered his hands and took a step back. As if following an order.

Something was quite interesting here. Even if nothing mattered except the knowledge that his world was back. Half of the tension was washed away by an invisible sea wave, but something stayed. The restlessness, the growing feeling of power to do something that mattered more than anything now. As much as Silver himself did.

Something that should have been done so long ago.

 

+++++++++++++

 

The road back was… hard. Silver lost his peg leg, got rid of it himself as he explained when the ship sank. Flint’s heart was in his throat after he heard about the ordeal his Quartermaster endured. He guessed it was ten times more awful than Silver said, but the latter just dismissed it as something unimportant, which was in the past now.

“He saved my life,” he nodded towards the man, following them behind. Flint risked a glance at the said man again, but this time there was no scowl, only a slight frown. He doubted that face could show other expressions.  
Israel Hands, banished from Teach’s crew, whose tale he told Silver one particular evening in his cabin. Even he thought the man was long dead since then, almost a ghost now, but he was very much alive and-

And tracking every Silver’s movement, like a loyal dog. His Quartermaster was a hard man not to like, indeed, even by a man, who clearly wanted to sell him to the Governor. Which made Flint quite… suspicious towards their new addition, despite Silver reassuring him that everything was fine now and they’d need any help they could get.

Silver’s steps slowed ever more and Flint guessed a little break would be very much appreciated, even if his Quartermaster refused to acknowledge it aloud. So he stopped and turned fully to him, making Silver stop too. There was a thin layer of sweat on his brow, and his breaths were quiet, but undoubtedly tired. And moreover – he was bruised, pale and exhausted beyond measure. Flint knew everything as if felt it himself.

Silver needed rest, which wasn’t an option at all, with their plan of reclaiming Nassau now returning full force. The King was back and it would be foolish not to use this immediately to gather the resistance and land a harsh blow to the Governor’s forces with him being away from the island now.

They needed to hurry and strike, engage the English soldiers in a brutal fight and win it. There was only one chance and they couldn’t loose it. And yet-

But he couldn’t back down now, when the war was at its peak, when one, final blow would bring them everything they fought for.

Everything he wanted for so long.

When they gathered at that broken house, when his men barely held themselves from dancing with joy around their alive Quartermaster, when Madi’s face shone with relieved smile and she let herself engulf Silver in a tight, but quick hug and then step away-

Only then Flint’s mind abandoned its whispers and hissed at him _This is not what you want_ but he quieted it as much as he could. The fire, burning him from the inside, still stayed, though.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Then Nassau was theirs – at least the main part of it – and world turned upside down. There were dozens of people running around: hiding, screaming, breaking something or someone; bullets flying, swords splashing with blood… Complete and utter mess, with Governor’s former mansion as the center of some flimsy peace, if just for the time being.

Still everyone inside, despite being the ones to engage in overthrowing former rule, seemed at loss of what to do now. Flint felt himself tearing in halves, trying to do everything all at once. Someone questioned him, like other captains did, and he had to seek Silver’s help in these cases, whom was a center of everyone’s attention maybe even more than Flint himself.

“You heard him,” and each and every time Silver gave the same answer, in the same voice that left no room for arguments. The King said his word and one would be a fool to question it.

Flint felt as though their minds merged together at last, creating a single one: when he spoke Silver did too and visa versa. He saw looks others were throwing at them both in these moments – amazed and frightened at the same time – and his darkness raised its head each and every time, whispering to him how good it felt.

Each and every time he pushed it away, distracting himself with something else. Precisely with staying closer to Silver as much as possible, noticing something he didn’t like at all. His Quartermaster leaned on his crutch heavier than before, but otherwise tried not to show how tired he was. Judging by everyone’s behavior he fooled them quite right, but Flint saw every crack in his newfound armor, every painful clench of his jaw, every tiny second of him closing his eyes and then snapping them open again, his face hard with determination to stay upright and play his role.

Flint wanted – needed – to do something, but every time he thought right words or actions came, his mouth stayed closed, body locked in the same place.

But soon it became apparent that Silver needed to sit, otherwise his leg just wouldn’t hold him anymore. Flint moved closer, their shoulders touching, and lowered his voice to a whisper:

“Either you sit down willingly, or I’d have to order you to do so, which I’m not willing to do at all, not right here.”

Silver pressed his lips in a thin line, then exhaled and slowly nodded.

“If you say so, Captain,” he stressed the latter out, but there was a smile on his lips and he mover towards the huge desk, sitting on a corner of it, grabbing his crutch with both hands, but still being on alert.

Hands stayed right beside him, almost hovering above his shoulder, but just at the right distance. He glared daggers at literally everyone who approached Silver, even at Silver’s own crew, Madi and Flint.

_Especially_ at Flint.

He understood perfectly well the obvious spite Israel Hands felt towards him and it hasn’t bothered him even a slightest bit, which made the scarred man even more sullen. Flint honestly didn’t give a shit about Silver’s newfound ally as long as that same ally would do what was expected of him. Judging by the clear intent to kill every living soul for even thinking of harming the Pirate King in some way, Israel Hands proved to be quite useful.

After some time, when there were no immediate questions for him or Silver, coming from all ends, Flint caught Madi’s gaze and nodded towards Silver. She understood and together they approached him. Silver gave them a questioning stare, rising one eyebrow, but said nothing. Though his face told Flint he knew where this was coming.

He clearly wasn’t pleased with Flint’s words about Billy, but didn’t push it, staying calm, or maybe was too tired to argue. Flint felt his exhaustion as if it were his own, but before he decided to talk about some actual rest Dooley came in again, announcing Billy’s arrival.

Suddenly every commotion in the room quieted, everyone’s attention drawn to the man, slowly walking in. Billy wasn’t alone – Ben Gunn and few others stood beside him, but he was the only one to step closer and face his Captain and Quartermaster.

Madi moved closer to Flint, standing beside him, and he saw a clear scowl on her face. He tired not to show his own judgment openly, schooling his features, only looking at Billy expectantly, awaiting him to start the conversation, which clearly upset the man even more. Billy understood what he’d done and very much knew no one here would go easy on him after that.

And still he kept throwing glances at Silver, which Flint couldn’t quite understand, but they irritated him even more than the whole matter of Billy’s fuck-up. And not because that by doing it Billy openly showed where his trust lay and to whom he’d speak to. No, that wasn’t the only case of Flint’s growing anger.

There was something on Billy’s face, which spoke better than words did. Somewhat closer to… pride of seeing something he created with his own hands.

_It was my doing_ , Flint almost heard those words, swirling in his former bosun’s head, as if they were spoken aloud. _I created you, I wanted you in this position. You were made this because I whished so. You should listen to me, because I’m the reason you’re who you are now_.

The darkness in his mind hissed at him in tune with those words, claiming them not being Billy’s at all, stating it was Flint’s own mind creating them, because that was something he would have said himself, but he didn’t want to hear it. Though couldn’t quiet it too.

He spoke first, just to distract himself from those unwanted thoughts, and Billy’s attention snapped towards him, his face slightly suspicious but nothing more. Maybe that’s why Flint chose the question about trust, but Billy’s answer was suddenly interrupted by Silver’s voice.

And the Pirate King looked at his friend – his creator – standing straight upright, barely even leaning on his crutch, and there was _an actual fucking smile_ on his lips.

“Of course, we can trust Billy,” he spoke in a smooth voice; not raising it a slightest bit, but Flint knew that everyone heard him pretty clear. “ _I_ can trust him, right?”

“Of course,” was Billy immediate answer, followed by a step forward and Flint saw Hands went tense in an instant, fingers clutching the hilt of his blade. He made no move, though, just frowned even more.

“But I doubt that already,” Silver retorted, not swaying even a slightest bit, despite his exhaustion. His eyes were locked on Billy the entire time. “How can I trust someone who would violate it by endangering lives of those closest to me?”

Billy’s mouth, open for a new answer, snapped shut at that. His jaw worked, but he stayed silent and just watched Silver. Whose smile was much smaller now.

“It wasn’t my intention at all,” Billy eventually confessed, but the sideways glance he threw at Flint spoke otherwise. “You must know it.”

“What I do know, is that you caused an irreparable harm to our alliance with slave communities on this island,” Silver’s face was cold now, the smile completely gone. “Not to mention that your own brothers are now held captive in the fort, but I can’t see any attempt from your side to do something about it.”

“Those men lives are precious to me as much as to you,” Billy shook his head, pointing a finger at his own chest for some sort of indication. “And I can assure if I knew some way to-”

“Eleanor Guthrie is the one who holds them there,” Silver interjected and Flint saw his eyes narrow. “She wants Max in exchange for all of them. Do you happen to know where Max is right now?”

That made Billy pause and look at him too. Then his eyes drifted to Flint once more and he pressed his lips together.

“She’s with my men,” he suddenly declared and Flint saw Silver frowning at that even harder. His own face wore the same expression too. “I found her when she tried to escape. Now she’s secured, but unharmed.”

“You need to bring her here as quickly as you can,” Flint spoke at last, already thinking about Eleanor’s offer. “If-”

“I think this needs to be thought twice,” Billy’s answer made Flint blink at his incredulously.

“I beg your pardon?”

Suddenly Billy began explaining his thoughts about Max involvement in this whole mess and Flint felt something ugly twist inside him at the thought that everything won’t be easy at all. Billy wanted the upper hand in it, wanted to make Silver his ally, judging by the way he spoke almost completely to him, not minding Flint or the crowd beside them.

Billy needed the King he created, wanted to be the one to pull at his strings, and that fire Flint managed to quiet a bit roared full force again. When his former bosun, not bothered by Flint’s presence at all, stated that lives of those men weren’t valuable for their own Captain a slightest bit, Flint felt the ever present darkness rise beside him again.

“All the soldiers in the town are mine and everyone here knows it,” Billy threw an open hard glare at Flint after those words. “That is the only reason you want those men in the fort to be free. Or am I wrong?”

He looked around suddenly.

“Everyone here should learn at last that this war would just consume more and more lives until you,” he glared at Flint again, “would be satisfied, which won’t happen at all. Because you won’t stop until all those who see you as a monster you are would be dead.”

Flint just looked at him, a whirlwind of emotions – rage, hatred, _fire_ – messing with his thoughts. He could just break his neck and everything would be over, but still he hasn’t moved a slightest bit.

Maybe because deep down knew that everything Billy said was-

“Who would trust you now?” Billy all but spat in his face.

“I trust him,” Silver replied calmly and everything stopped. Flint saw how Billy’s eyes snapped towards his Quartermaster, a shock on his face, like he couldn’t believe what he heard just now.

Flint understood it well. He couldn’t too.

“What was that for?” Silver asked, his voice so even, as if he was totally unbothered by everything occurring here. “To hear my opinion of the matter? If that’s the case then I’ll repeat myself.”

He moved further, his crutch bumping on a floor in a tight silence, like a gunshot.

“I trust Captain Flint,” each word was stressed out deliberately. “I trust him thousand times more than I would a man like yourself.”

Those words – the same ones were spoken so long ago, on a beach, on a sunny day, when young man with eyes as blue as the sky above asked him about trust. When Flint declined his offer, not hesitating a slightest bit.

He was so wrong then.

“You’ll suffer because of it,” was there even sadness in Billy’s voice, when he spoke again? “Why can’t everyone see it?” he looked around the room once more, but his eyes returned to Silver eventually. “Why can’t _you_ see it? His own life is what matters to him the most. His own needs, his own demons. And one day we all die because of it.”

Flint felt that Silver wanted to say something. He felt it as though his own chest was torn with the force of those words, but he couldn’t let him. Not now. When the darkness, growing in the corners, started to fade away and its whisper quieted almost completely. When Flint suddenly understood Billy was wrong, after those last words were spoken.

Because his own well-being didn’t matter to him anymore. No one understood it; no one even thought it was possible for Captain Flint to care for someone. But he did and that was a truth Billy didn’t know. That was the truth that should have been said from the moment Flint felt it for the first time.

“There is,” his voice was so calm, but it didn’t surprise him – not now, not anymore, “a person that matters to me more than anything. I’d do everything for him, even if it would cost me everything else.”

“There’s no such person and we both know it,” Billy suddenly growled, stepping closer. “Even that woman wasn’t enough for you. I saw it when you burned Charlestown, I still remember it. There’s no name behind those words of yours.”

“You want a name?” Flint felt a smirk tugging at his lips, but suddenly Silver was speaking again and something in his voice made Flint pause and look at him.

“Captain,” there were deep sadness in his eyes, along with determination not to let everyone hear something that was a huge part of Flint’s story. Not to let the world use it and mock it. “Don’t,” he shook his head, as if pleading Flint not to expose himself – his greatest weakness – to those people around him.

To be safe.

Because Silver thought – and Flint knew it as if it were his own thoughts – he knew already what name was behind those words.

He didn’t.

Flint felt smile graze his lips – the one he never showed, not even to Miranda or Thomas. That was James McGraw who always smiled at them, but now he was a different person. Still the same Lieutenant, but a Captain nonetheless. And this new man wasn’t ashamed anymore.

“John Silver,” he stated in a clear voice, not looking away from that crystalline blue, despite every corner of his soul whining at him to do it. Because no matter their trust and friendship he could’ve guessed what would he see in those-

There was a sudden rush of warmth through him, so overwhelming, but strangely welcome. He felt gasp forming in his chest, but no sound came. Maybe there wasn’t enough air inside him left for that. Maybe something else, but he couldn’t think of that now.

Not when the world shined with dazzling color around him, but he barely noticed, because the light, illuminating Silver’s hand was ten times stronger. Even if it lasted mere seconds before fading to a golden Spiral, circling his wrist, with two simple words in the center of it.

_James Flint_


End file.
